


The Boy with the Sigil Tattoo

by keire_ke



Series: The Vampires Who Drink Tea [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy AU. The story of a boy and his vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the myth of self-preservation

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by Genkisakka. <3

**Now**

“We should go to the movies,” Erik says in Charles’ direction. Dating has its charms, he recalls, spending time alone with Charles even more so. Charles barely looks up, but across the room the suggestion is met with much applause and a small explosion of flame, which thankfully dissipates before it can do any damage. “I didn’t mean you, dimwits,” he adds, over the sound of Hank’s panicked yips – there are in a library, after all, surrounded by bibliophiles. Erik isn’t sure how is Alex still allowed inside.

“The least you could do is treat us to a movie, jackass,” Raven says. She sounds bitter, but at least she is talking, which is a major improvement over the silent treatment Erik was getting the past two weeks. “Otherwise we’ll be left thinking you are an unrepentant, soulless dick.” The tone of her voice implies “otherwise” and the future tense is a rhetorical figure, not to be taken seriously. Erik doesn’t mind. Insults are welcome. They imply communication. Charles insists on communication.

“I am a staunch supporter of calling a spade a spade,” Erik says, picking up an ancient book on the breeds of demons one can summon with an incautious word.

Charles is buried in his papery pile down to his curly hair, but his smile permeates his every word and beyond, drawing forth smiles from everyone present. “In this case the soulless part would have been a lie.”

“Being in possession of a glorified light bulb does not make a man ensouled,” Erik says, perusing the page which informs the reader that a petunia eating creature will appear if the words “gibblety gobblety goop” are spoken over warm rhubarb. How he would have loved to be around when that priceless gem of universally applicable knowledge was first discovered and tested.

Charles moves the stack of parchment to the left, creating a narrow window to the rest of the room. “Vampire, then.”

“Technically, it would be a mammal-based parasitic biped.”

“You swing both ways now? Since when?” Raven says with a scowl, which Erik jots down in his memory book. A scowl is very nearly a smile, which will merit a reward from Charles, later. He carefully avoids eye-contact (a teenage girl is a foreign species, one shouldn’t antagonise it), but the opening is too perfect to let slide.

“Charles, as a concerned citizen I would like to raise the awareness of illiteracy in our youth.”

“It happens when there is too much cinema and not enough books.”

Raven huffs. She hoists her legs up over the armrest of the couch and wiggles her bare feet in the air. The book she was reading is now underneath her head, which, Erik feels, more than supports his point. “Gimme a break, Charles, I breathe books. There are more books in my room alone than there are rats in the whole city and let me tell you, the city is rat-central. I crawled through enough sewers to know, trust me.”

Sean raises a hand, hits the ceiling, hisses, then forgets all about it and starts nodding to a beat only he can hear. “Yeah, man, come on, don’t be a killjoy. Let’s all go out, this place is a bloody mausoleum,” he says from his perch on top of a bookshelf.

Erik grins. Everyone studiously avoids looking at his mouth, even though his face remains technically human and therefore free of fangs. “What do you say, Charles?”

“I think it’s a marvellous idea. Do make sure to pick up some popcorn and chocolate for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy cheesy blockbusters.”

“I do enjoy most of them, but I’m afraid I cannot leave the house.”

Erik rolls his eyes. “The mausoleum can survive without you for a few hours. Stop being such a drag.”

“Let me rephrase. I am not able to leave the house,” Charles says, taking the reading glasses off and gets up. He stacks the book he was reading on the appropriate shelf (the one around which cast iron vines curl, top to bottom; it’s where he stores all books containing explosive spells) and pulls out another. There is a faint thrum of magic that lets Erik know there are spells in place around, or possibly in, the shelf, which is a sensible precaution, against a house full of kids. “I don’t wish to stop you from going, though. Fun is important. If we don’t take a moment to unwind now and then we might become too tangled in our woes to function.”

“What do you mean you’re unable to leave the house?” Erik crosses his arms and fixes his gaze between Charles’ shoulder blades.

“Precisely that. I’m bound to the premises.” It’s not much of an answer, and Charles is evidently aware of it, because he unbuttons a few buttons of his shirt and pulls it down, revealing the upper edge of an intricate tattoo, which spans the breadth of flesh between his shoulders and disappears below the line drawn by the shirt’s collar. It means little to Erik, past a dusty memory of seeing something of its ilk in a book, or three. It’s been too long and too little, though, so he is not at all surprised that Hank gasps at the sight first and all but dives for a dusty tome in excitement.

“I know what this is! I’ve seen it in here, this is a _Sigillum Dei Aemeth_! This is heavy duty magic; these sigils were used to fetter gods in the old days.”

“Yes, I do feel quite privileged.”

Hank flips through the book, happily chattering away, blissfully unaware that the temperature in the room has gone down a few degrees, despite Alex’s fiery presence. Hank has the uncanny ability to miss the elephant when chasing the mice.

“What.” Erik says flatly.

Charles shrugs. He buttons the shirt up and, almost unconsciously, brushes his fingertips against the scar on his neck. “I can’t say I’m happy with it, but house arrest is better than prison. I dodged a bullet there.”

“What exactly have you done to merit prison?” Raven asks and it’s only half a joke. The other half is deadly serious. “Did you forget to feed a kitten? Returned a book late? Raised your voice in a public library?”

“Involuntary manslaughter,” Charles says. “And treason. Possibly being an insufferable know-it-all, but that remains open to interpretation. Although… now that I recall the faces of the Council, it is a distinct possibility that the latter has been my worst offence.”

*****

**Six Years Ago**

It was not so much music as it was the roar of a herd of cattle, slowed digitally and then played from a scratched CD. The one thing Erik still recognised from his youth was the steady pulse, which rolled over the club forcing every heart within to match its beat. His was exempt, naturally, lacking the necessary vital signs.

Clubs were excellent hunting ground. Darkness meant cover, drinks meant suggestibility and gullibility, and for his purposes, deniability. “Why no, officer, it must have been the other vampire. Would you trust a drunken college kid when he points at me, swaying on his feet? I look like a hundred other men, in this light it could have been Gary Oldman himself.”

It was not outside the realms of possibility that he was a little hungry.

Erik didn’t fancy himself invisible where he was, perched on the support beams of the ceiling, but he was secure in the assumption no one would care, even if he were noticed. The fumes were far too dense to worry about recognition. He surveyed the club with a discerning gaze. Too young, too old, not drunk enough… 

Ah, perfect.

The boy swayed with the beat. The curly bangs on his sweaty forehead fell into his eyes with every move; his lips were parted and stretched in an inviting smile. Unfortunately for Erik’s plans there was a woman gyrating against him, with her eager mouth on the nape of his neck. She must have been young, younger than Erik even, because she only narrowly managed to hold on to her human face. The kid half turned to her and, even though his eyes were half-closed and the lighting of the club leaves much to be desired, Erik got the impression his eyes were as blue as the sky. He smelled of dust, books and sweat, and no less than three kinds of alcohol.

It didn’t spell trouble that Erik could focus on this singular heartbeat, this singular smell, in a crowd of hundreds. At least, it didn’t spell trouble for Erik. There was a wealth of problems the vampire woman would find herself facing in a few moments, he thought, when she started pulling the boy out of the crowd and through the back door.

Erik walked down the beam until he could reach the concealed window, and squeezed through the narrow opening. There was grime on the other side, but fuck grime. That kid looked good enough to eat; he might be worth breaking a few rules and a trip to the Laundromat.

He landed behind a dumpster, where an old tom cat was glaring at him, before the vampire navigated her way around the heavy steel door. “An alley, seriously?” he heard the boy speak. “Isn’t that a little dreary?”

“I promise, luv, you won’t forget the alley for as long as you live.”

“Doubt it. I’m pretty drunk. I won’t be remembering it tomorrow, I bet.”

“So little faith you have in me!” She let out a giggle which made Erik roll his eyes. What epoch was she from, Canada?

“Don’t get me wrong, I am sorry about that, because you have a spectacularly groovy eye colour. Did you know that blue is carried by the recessive genes? I should remember their designation, I usually do. It slipped my mind just now. Did it start with an M? It might have. It’s a lovely colour.”

Erik grinned when the woman made a face. Not a thinker, that one.

“Sweetie, if you can find it in your pretty little head to think, I must be doing something wrong.” Her manicured fingernails skimmed the boy’s waistband, dipping inside for a tease.

“Yes, you are.” 

Erik saw his hands move. The boy was human and he was a vampire, of course he saw. Making sense of what he saw took a little longer, because the boy had drawn a plain cigarette lighter from his pocket, except when he clicked it there was a flash of bright light and the vampire exploded in flames. She didn’t even have time to scream before dissolving into a cloud of ash.

The boy coughed and covered his mouth in a vain attempt to keep the swirling particles out. “Ew, I’m gonna be coughing her up for days,” he muttered, waving his hand around. It had the opposite of the desired effect.

Suicide was not high on Erik’s to-do list. He was far too practical, and he still had a few fuckers to utterly destroy. He had a busy unlife and he was in no hurry to see it finished, which was why he found it puzzling that the little human boy, whose eyes were sky-blue, who killed vampires without a thought, had just been upgraded from a casual snack to a gourmet meal, instead of the more sensible deadly poison.

He should write it up and send it to the guys from Jackass. A vampire desires a vampire killer. Let them figure out the stunt doubles for that.

“I know you’re there.”

Erik blinked at the concrete wall. He was certain he’d made no sound to give himself away (much easier when breathing ceased to be a problem), and the kid was still getting over his coughing fit, and those tended to absorb the attention of the living.

“Either the Powers That Be finally got tired of being sexist pigs, or you are the butchest Slayer I have ever seen,” Erik said. The boy’s eyes were still closed, and his shoulders shook with effort.

“How many Slayers have you seen?”

“Just one and she was mostly dead.”

“Shows what you know, then.”

The coughing fit must have passed, because the kid was looking in his direction. Erik shrugged and stepped out from behind the dumpster, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s the range on that thing?” he asked, nodding towards the lighter.

The boy frowned. “Not great, I’m afraid. It’s a much better lighter than a weapon.”

It was a weapon all the same. Erik didn’t budge from his spot. “Are you depressed or suicidal?”

“No, why?”

“One can’t help but hope.”

“Well, one will have to go hungry tonight, if one is set on me. Were you two going to share me? I’m dreadfully sorry. Was it true love?” the boy cooed, which, given the romantic setting of a dirty back alley with trash containers and rats, made him sound like a hooker out to earn a month’s wages in a single night.

“Darling,” Erik drawled, fully conscious that he was as good as diving for his check book, just in case, “If I got you, I wouldn’t share for a football team of virgins.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant to be one. You smell very tasty.”

“I smell of books and dust. I work in a library.”

“We aren’t all uncultured boors. Some of us appreciate a conversation with our dinner.”

“And beyond lies the Wub. Does dust help with that?”

“Book dust, a little.” Erik thought fondly of his own library-laden past, of books and paper and leather bindings, shelves of runes and parchments. It was a good smell; dust was distant sunshine and companionship, books were knowledge and bright new worlds, waiting to be discovered. The galaxies at his fingertips, strange planets, alcohol and hamsters inheriting the earth. Those were the days. “The more I wander the more I find myself singular in my preferences.”

“Pardon me for asking, but you don’t sound like you’re terribly old.”

“Do I look old to you?”

“I’m nineteen, so who doesn’t?” The kid laughed and shook his head. The lighter flickered open between his fingers. The flame, brighter than it should be, hurtful to Erik’s nocturnal eyes, illuminated his boyish face, his bright blue irises and wide, inky pupils. “I meant how long have you been dead?”

“Sixteen years.”

“Wow. So you’re a rebellious teen by vampire standards?”

Erik smirked. “As much as that assertion wounds me, I’m forced to admit that I am rebelling against my sire, hence the chatting up and not violent biting of throats. He’s a traditionalist, you see.”

“And here I was thinking you liked me for me. Oh well.”

Erik couldn’t help but watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, the accompanying puffs of white escaping his mouth. Oh Christ, he was going to have that kid for lunch, dinner and breakfast. He would keep him locked up for years, just so he could feed on him every day; he would keep him comfortable, on a soft bed, draining him inch by delicious cubic inch, drop by drop, licking the blood out of shallow cuts so that they healed and he could repeat the process the next afternoon.

… and veering back to the real world, thank you, brain, Erik thought.

“Are you going to try eating me?”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I will eat you. Will you mind terribly?”

“I’d much rather you didn’t, if that’s all the same to you. I’m not a little drunk and tired, so I might go overboard with self-defence and…” The boy cocked his head and considered. “Then again, you are a vampire, so any force would be justifiable. You know what, never mind my rambling. I’m sure I’m pretty tasty. You are more than welcome to try.”

“You seem awfully confident for someone who’s all alone, at night, in an empty alley with a predator with nothing but a cigarette lighter to guard his honour.” If he was any hungrier even the lighter wouldn’t have stopped him. Erik was fast. He could wrench the little contraption out of the boy’s hands before he could move; fortunately, his thirst was moderate and he was enjoying the banter, so the boy would be allowed to live a little while longer. Then he would die, because Erik didn’t often go all out, but when he did, he went out with style. There would be tuxedoes and capes.

“I’ve given up on my honour,” the boy said, waving a dismissive hand through a complicated set of invisible obstacles. “Didn’t find much use for it. I’m prepared to get very territorial about the blood though.”

“Now, there’s no need to be selfish. You have what, twelve pints of blood in you? Didn’t your mother teach you to share?” Erik took a step forward, holding out his hands.

“My mother taught me to hold my liquor, luv. Please don’t come any closer.” The boy straightened and stepped away from the wall. “You seem like a pleasant fellow and I’m really tired. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?”

Erik glanced at the lighter, at the sparks streaming from the grinding wheels. “Only if you don’t mind me finding you later.”

“I’m not going to let you kill me,” the boy said firmly. There was the first hint of fear in his scent, just a pale line zigzagging through his overall aura. Just the perfect amount, too – anymore and it would spoil the flavour. Erik licked his lips.

“I’m not going to let you get away.”

The fear solidified, brightened, became fixed, but the boy didn’t even tremble. “What’s your name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Pleased to meet you, Erik. I’m Charles. I’m a Watcher in training. You might want to reconsider your dinner plans.”

Erik took another step forward, into the murky light of the suddenly distant lamplight. Charles didn’t flinch, even when they were standing less than six feet apart. There was plenty of alcohol on his breath, but his eyes were clear and sky-blue, and fixed on Erik’s.

“I don’t think I will,” Erik said.

Charles’ smile was thoroughly unexpected. “You have every advantage over me, so be warned that I will use deadly force.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’ll see you later then, Erik. Hopefully sober.”

“Goodbye.”

Charles held himself straight as he walked out of the alley. He really was drunk, there was no escaping the fact, but he moved very deliberately and with a clear sense of purpose, which even the alcohol couldn’t muddle. Erik dithered for a few minutes, then took great care in scaling the wall as though he was merely out on a stroll, stretching his legs, and following, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. A few blocks down Charles hailed a cab, which Erik took as a sign to stop bothering. He was no dog to be chasing down cars, not even if there were juicy bones inside to gnaw on.

The kid had to leave the house sometime, and when he did, Erik would be waiting.

In the meantime he got back to the club, to the drunk and stoned coeds. The appeal was suddenly negligible, but a vampire needed to suck, such was the course of life.

*****

The next time Erik saw Charles, he was the one drunk. He didn’t plan it; it worked out that way. He’d gone on the prowl to find himself a decent midnight snack, which he did, following which he went into the nearby bar and downed nearly a bottle of vodka and chased it down with scotch. Not that there was any emotional significance to that particular day, fuck anyone who asked.

“Rough day, son?” the bartender asked when he set another tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

“Anniversary of my death, thank you. Bring me another.”

“Sounds serious.” The rag in the bartender’s hands twisted and turned, polishing a shot glass from the inside; left right, flip the glass, set it aside, take another. Erik watched the movement mesmerised.

“It’s a Thursday, to boot. I fucking hate Thursdays.”

“I’d rather have Thursdays than Fridays.”

“Shows what you know.” Erik downed his tumbler. “Another.”

There was a reason Erik frequented that particular bar. The barman was always looking for a good afternoon yak, but he was as open minded as they got: no less than three murders were committed in his establishment by vampires or demons, including one black mass with a ritualistic slaughtering, and the place remained open and welcoming to all. (To give the human authorities their due, the barman had been locked in the cellar for the duration of the mass, he could prove his loud protests with minor wounds which couldn’t have been self-inflicted, and the other two murders were rather inconspicuous – just two patrons, too drunk to move, turning out to have died sometime during the binge.) He appreciated the business he got from the vampires and their superior metabolism, especially since it meant that he and his family enjoyed untouchable status among the nocturnal population.

“I heard they found a new Slayer,” the barman said unexpectedly.

“I’m sorry?”

The barkeep shrugged and moved on from the shot glasses to tumblers. “I’m just repeating gossip. Beats me what they meant by that, mind. There were a couple gentlemen in here earlier, wearing very puzzling masks, who complained that a Slayer was found. They seemed agitated.”

“This could be bad news.”

“Will it interfere with my business?”

“Shouldn’t. If it does, just say the word and I’m pretty sure more customers will be arranged.” Erik fished out a fifty out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter. “Take care and remain ignorant.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Erik stumbled out into the cool night, displeased to find the alley right by the bar very much occupied. Someone had taken care to splatter something delicious all over the walls, which indicated very poor table manners.

“Erik. Fancy meeting you here.”

Erik stopped and got his eyes to concentrate on the immediate surroundings. “Charles. Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you by any chance see or hear anything?”

“I was busy getting smashed,” Erik replied truthfully. The street was slowly swimming into visual focus. Sadly it was a very delicious focus, making conversation difficult. There was blood everywhere. Erik cursed his youth, it make him want to lick the walls. As if to make matters worse, Charles was standing at the mouth of the alley, speaking to a pleasant young woman, who would make an acceptable entrée to the main course, quite acceptable indeed, if she didn’t reek of hospitals and disinfecting fluids. “What happened here?”

“Obviously, she tripped,” the woman said with a wry quirk to her lips. 

Erik glared at her, taking care to notice her uniform and footwear so sensible it had its own cooking show. “I see dating standards have gone down in recent years, if you think track shoes are fetching,” he shot back.

She treated him to another quirk of the brow and turned to Charles. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Charles laughed. “We’ve met once.”

“So he is a friend.”

“What have I just said?”

“I heard you perfectly. Unfortunately I happen to know you, hence the question.” She was grinning as she spoke, and Charles, in turn, looked faintly embarrassed.

“Don’t you have lives to save?” Erik folded his arms and tried to ignore the blood. The dead girl was just young enough to be delicious. He wasn’t hungry, but sometimes the lack of hunger wasn’t enough. He focused on Charles instead, to avoid saying anything stupid, but when he did something else started bothering him. Yes, he would have happily gone on his knees to lick the bricks thirty seconds ago (the girl was alive when she was splattered open), but the longer he stood there, ignoring the overwhelming scent of blood, the more he noticed a discord in the air. Something else was there, something he’d encountered previously and which had made a lasting impression.

“The life we came to save didn’t make it.” The woman tilted her head to the side and Erik all but saw the carotid artery throb an invitation in Morse code. Her blood wouldn’t even leave marks on the vivid red of her jacket.

Erik managed to contain the growl, just barely.

“Right,” Charles said, a little too urgently. “Moira, I think they are just about done. You should go.”

“I guess.” Moira looked at Erik, then back to Charles and Erik again. Something passed through her face then, because the smile dimmed and she nodded. “If you say so. I’ll call you later, alright?”

“Do. I’ll see you.”

Moira departed in the ambulance, which was the only reasonable way for Moira to depart, if Erik had anything to say about it, and Charles turned to him with a frosty glare. “Did you do this?”

“Why would I do this?”

The lighter was in Charles’ hand; his thumb rested on the wheel, ready to spark the deadly flame into existence. Erik chanced a look around. No one was looking at them, perhaps justly so, because the police was just now setting up a perimeter around the mouth of the alley. Then again, this was the vampire central. People were wilfully blind to anyone suddenly bursting into a cloud of dust, which was why Erik answered truthfully. “I didn’t. I generally abstain from killing, let alone spilling the food.”

“As if.”

“No, I mean it.” Charles’ eyes were darker when he was angry. Erik smiled. He wondered what he’d look like in a rage. He wondered what he would taste like after a fight. “I’m far from insisting I never kill, but I make a point of leaving most of the generous donors alive. It saves me trouble in the long run.”

“Are you trying to tell me no one has ever reported you?” Charles’ eyes were round in wonder and surprise. The lighter, Erik was gratified to notice, hung loosely between his fingertips. What a naïve child, he thought, fighting the impulse to pat the boy on the head in a condescending manner. 

“Why would they? Most of them are too stoned to remember me. Like I said, there is a direct correlation between the amount of corpses I leave behind me and the amount of trouble I attract.” It was surprisingly true – people were far more willing to ignore fang marks on their necks if they could stumble home (or hospital – Erik wasn’t that concerned) and walk out into the sunlight the next morning with steamy tales to tell.

Charles seemed to have followed his line of reasoning, because the lighter went away and Erik got an apology, if a half-hearted one. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m certain she was killed by a vampire, and you just happened to be in the neighbourhood.”

He was a young Watcher, he’d said. Erik wondered if the Council was aware of the dubious nature of the bar around the corner.

“Not that it’s unusual, what with the bar and all, but still. I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Well, that answered the question. “Thank you so much for the vote of confidence. I can tell you are a real treasure to have as a friend.”

“We’re not friends, Erik. You’re a vampire.”

“Good to see the Council is as xenophobic as ever. Just because I’m differently alive is no reason to discriminate against me.”

The smile that appeared on Charles’ face was unexpected, bright and brilliant. If Erik was at all nostalgic about the sunshine he was missing on account of being deathly allergic to it, he would have found it an acceptable substitute. He wasn’t, of course, and even if he missed sauntering around midday in polo shirts and shorts, he certainly wouldn’t find a little Watcher’s smile an acceptable substitute.

He was a fucking demonic parasite, for fuck’s sake.

“I can’t dispute that,” Charles said, with his hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth like a ten-year-old. “They are bigoted jerks. Although in their defence most vampires don’t inspire trust, both in feeding habits and demeanour.”

“Which makes us different from most humans, how?”

“Point taken.” The smile softened, became almost friendly. 

Erik’s vision was sharp, glaring around the edges and, somehow, it made so much sense to want to touch the boy and not hurt him. He quelled the impulse. He didn’t need to breathe, but there were times when every creature must sigh, regardless of its state of vitality, and as he did, he finally understood what the missing component was.

Sulphur.

Not just any sulphur either. There was little more than a faint aftertaste; the kind that would remain when a tendril of reddish mist yielded to Brownian inevitability.

“It was a demon,” Erik said.

“Pardon?”

“A demon killed her. I can smell sulphur.”

Charles pouted. “I was certain it was a vampire. Of course, I yield to your superior olfactory expertise,” he added quickly, and alright, Erik would take offence at the light hearted tone, were it not so blatantly honest. “Thank you. There aren’t many demons in the city, it should be easily found.”

No, he wouldn’t, Erik thought and stared hard at the kid.

“Don’t go looking for him,” he said. “You will be killed.” That earned him a potent glare.

“I’m not suicidal, Erik. Of course I won’t go looking for him. I’m not even finished with training for god’s sake. I’m a Watcher, not a Potential, don’t you think I know this?” His hands left the pockets and curled into fists. Erik watched the ire rising through his nervous system with the same delight he would award the application of mustard to a hotdog.

“Excuse me, for knowing your age and making immediate assumptions about your common sense and heroic tendencies,” he said, grinning.

“Just because I sometimes kill a vampire in self-defence, when she is about to spoil my fun, doesn’t mean I’m actively trying to be Batman. Give me some credit here.”

“Here in this blood-spattered alley, scolding a vampire with no back-up in sight. Taunting vampires isn’t working wonders on your life expectancy.”

Charles cocked his head to the side and regarded him curiously for a few moments. “Are you still interested in drinking my blood?”

“Always.”

“Tough luck, my friend.” Another curious stare and then Charles was shaking his head. “I better be going, I have a marathon session with physical tomorrow morning.”

“Try not to wander through any more alleys on your own.”

Charles turned to walk away and hesitated. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it might be wise for you to skip town for a while. The new Slayer was located and she is being brought here.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Be careful, okay? Steer clear of teenaged girls.”

“Teenaged boys are ripe for picking, you mean?” Leering was something of a talent of his. Erik had a mouth made for leering, and eyebrows to seal the deal. He was gratified to hear-smell-feel the pink wave flooding Charles’ face.

“Pervert.”

Erik laughed and, when Charles averted his eyes, disappeared from his view. He crouched in the shadows far enough to avoid detection and watched the kid blink and smile at the air. He then shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, still smiling.

Erik walked in the opposite direction at a sedate pace. So Azazel was in town. If Azazel was in town, so was Shaw.

This was either very good, or very bad.

*****

Erik was well aware that he was swiftly crossing the line from being intrigued by the young Watcher to being stupidly besotted with him, which was in equal parts humiliating and amusing (if he sat back and had an out of body experience, he could laugh at his own stupidity). He could deny the more nauseating impulses by convincing himself that he wanted, rather desperately, for the boy to be safe and unspoiled for his consumption. With Shaw in town the safety of any living creature was uncertain; therefore stalking around to make sure Charles wasn’t being followed was a reasonable past-time.

On top of the news (which no one dared to even whisper about; most of the vampires were morons, but they were bright enough to figure out that creatures who burst into flame when exposed to sunlight would never inherit the Earth. Thus Shaw was more of an eccentric, elderly Nazi uncle to the lot of them; the kind you’d laugh at uncomfortably and avoid, even though you were sure nothing he rambled on could ever be true, because no one could possibly be that crazy), Charles remained elusive for the next few weeks. It galled, that frequenting the pulsing clubs yielded no results. Erik fed on a few stoned college kids, left them woozy, but fully mobile, and went to the butcher’s the following morning. Something was missing from the hunting game, and as much as he disliked farm animals, their blood was at least a disappointment he was expecting from the get go, not one he discovered mid-meal.

Erik resorted to more or less desperate measures, in the end. He knew Charles didn’t stay cooped up in his home; there was enough of his scent all over town to suggest he frequented a local ice-cream parlour on a daily basis, that he was a patron of the local antique store and was on a first name basis with the clerk in the bookstore. For reasons which escaped Erik, however, he tended to conclude his business before sunrise.

No one ever accused Erik of doing things half-way, and obsessing would be no different, he told himself.

“Oh my god,” Charles said, his eyes round as saucers, when Erik held up one end of a large and heavy package, wrapped in brown paper, which Charles carried with obvious difficulty. “Are you insane?”

“I fail to see your point.” Erik adjusted the umbrella over his shoulder and raised a brow.

“It’s noon! Why aren’t you in your coffin?”

“I was bored.”

Charles adjusted his hold on the package and used it as a battering ram, pushing Erik through the door of a nearby café. “A table in the back,” he told the waitress. “Far from the windows. In fact, do you have anything in the basement?”

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have a basement,” said the bewildered waitress. Erik met her shocked gaze with a cool indifference. So what if it was May. He was allowed to wear leather gloves and a leather jacket over a hoodie over a turtleneck, if he felt like it. “We have a table far inside, by the bar, if that’s okay?”

“That will do.” Charles balanced the package on his knee and followed the girl through the sparsely populated room. “Thank you. You offer tea, don’t you? Wonderful. I’ll have rosehip.”

“No cake?” Erik asked, folding his umbrella and propping it against the table. “Same. Only I will have cake. Chocolate.”

“Right away.” The waitress drew a complicated squiggle across her pad and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I thought you didn’t eat,” Charles said, once he was done arranging his parcel on the chair next to him.

Erik dropped the sunglasses onto the table and started unzipping his jacket. “I can. I just find it pointless, as I don’t taste much.”

“You live a sad facsimile of a life.”

“I am a vampire, Charles.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

Charles fiddled with the strings of the package, which sat smugly in the chair it had been awarded on Charles’ right. Erik failed to divine the reason for such blatant favouritism. He was risking his life here, and a package got the preferential treatment. The nerve! “What are you doing here, Erik?” the boy asked eventually, when he confirmed that the box was undamaged and still smug as only a wrapped-up cardboard box can be.

“Looking for you.”

Charles shot him a dubious look. “It’s the middle of May and you are wandering the streets. The sun could come out at any moment.”

“Hence the umbrella and the glasses.”

“You can’t expect the umbrella to protect you from the sun.”

“I tested it. It works well enough.” It would be useless for a clear day, but fortunately this week was ripe in long, overcast afternoons, which allowed Erik to take the chance for a stroll with the risk of bursting into flame reduced to an acceptable minimum.

“Well, you look ridiculous.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are worried about me.” Erik leaned back in his chair, straightened his legs so that he could lightly kick at Charles and grinned lazily.

“I’m not worried!” Further spouting of blatant untruths was spoiled by the arrival of the waitress, who set two steaming pots, two cups and a plate with a slice of cake before them.

“Will that be all?” she asked, glancing between them, the pad magically appearing in her outstretched hands.

Charles nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“You were saying how you weren’t worried about me?” Erik speared the cake in half, spread a bite-sized piece over half the plate, smearing the vanilla sauce, and nibbled on a crumb. If he was having it in the privacy of his apartment he would deem it tasteless. As it were, with Charles sitting across from his it was very nearly chocolaty. It would of course be way better as a textural difference in a cup of warm, fresh blood, but this was not the kind of establishment which catered to the differently alive. Erik should start a civil rights movement, one of these days.

“I’m not worried about you.” Charles said as he peeked into the fat little pot. Erik could have spared him the trouble – the tea needed to steep for another ten minutes, at least, but watching his frustrated twitching had enough value as entertainment. “You obviously know what you’re doing, and you are of the undead, so I feel no obligation to be concerned for your well-being.”

“Ah, but your very first thought was to make sure I’m safely away from the mean old sun. What does that tell you?”

Charles scoffed. “That I don’t appreciate idiocy, in whatever form?”

“Your life would be a lot easier if more vampires took to walking the streets. You should encourage me. Maybe I will make it popular in the appropriate circles.” Erik nudged the umbrella with his foot, until it tipped over and landed on Charles’ thigh.

“You will make walking around in the sun with an umbrella popular in vampire circles. That will be the day.”

“It’s probably a good idea people started wearing face masks, then. There would be a lot of dust on the streets.”

Charles shook his head and laughed, as he propped the umbrella back against the wall. “You are one of a kind. So what brings you here?”

“As I said, I was bored.”

“How bored do you have to be to walk out the street at noon in the middle of May?”

“Sadly the local libraries don’t appreciate the nocturnal lifestyle. It is almost impossible to get a book out in the summer months.” It was. The main entrance of the library faced the sunlit square, which was surrounded by buildings so short Erik could step over their roofs. It meant that the entrance to the library was in perpetual sunlight, until the sun went down, at which point the librarians were at home, stroking their cats and sipping red wine, bemoaning the fact that the other librarian doesn’t return their affection. This was how sad Erik’s existence was: he was invested in the soap opera of the librarian’s love life.

“Have you been in the city long?” Charles gave in finally and poured a cup of tea. He stirred it like he was at court: he held the teaspoon over the rim just so, before setting it carefully on the saucer. Erik had no difficulty imagining him in a handsome frock, charming the corsets right off the powdered ladies. “It’s just that you know that a lot of Slayers get sent here. Not all, of course, they are not always found, but a lot. There is one in town right now.”

“There’s also far more demons and vampires than in any other city in the world, probably due to the hell’s gates below. Which is the cause and which is the effect, exactly?”

Charles frowned at him. “You already knew that.”

“I’m not a moron.”

“You do display a classic self-destructive streak, though. You know, I have theorised that vampires don’t have much in the way of self-preservation instinct. It is stripped away with your humanity. It’s hard to prove with most of you; too much gleeful malice, but here you are, in bright sunlight, chatting me up, without a care in the world.”

Erik took another bite of the cake. “Maybe you’re just worth the risk.”

“Maybe you need to examine your priorities.”

“A good meal is worth dying for,” Erik said, licking the tasteless chocolate cake off the fork.

“It really isn’t.” Charles took a sip of his tea. He must really like rosehip, Erik thought longingly. Even across the table he could feel the delight spreading across his taste buds, sinking in deep and tickling the brain. The enjoyment of blood that he had to contend with was far less sensual.

“If you’ve ever gone sixteen years without chocolate, you would sing a different tune.”

“That is true. I might have a fit of compassion right now. Don’t mind me.”

“Be my guest. It is a terrible fate to befall any man. I will welcome all expressions of compassion. If you wished to make my existence more bearable, I will happily accept donations.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, cradling the cup in his hands, and smiled. “Nice try, but no.”

“Where is your compassion now?”

“Safely out of the reach of your teeth, thank you. What books were you after?”

“At this point I’m so desperate for a touch of the written word that anything will do. I’ve gone through my whole Philip Dick collection twice since I last got to visit the library.”

“Poor baby.” Charles unfolded the brown paper enough to reveal a cardboard box filled with hard-cover tomes. “I could possibly bear to part with a few of those for a few days. Have you read Lem? I just got the combined works.”

Erik had. Twice, in some cases. “No. Is he any good?”

“I loved _His Master’s Voice_ , so I figured I might as well read everything else he’s ever written. Then of course there’s the whole social realism I need to read up on to get it, but I have nights to spare. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

“Your blood.”

“Let me go and contain my amusement. Ha, ha, ha.” Charles peeled the layers until he was able to wiggle the book he was looking for out of its bindings. “There you go. I trust you know how to handle books and I’ll get it back in good condition?”

Erik smoothed the shiny cover with his thumb. It smelled of fresh ink and paper, not the slightest hint of dust, and it was a book he didn’t yet own, even if he did read it once, a long time ago. It ranked high on the list of things he desired the universe to gift him with. “Yes, thank you. I promise it will be just fine.”

Charles went through his pockets and came up with a pen. He jotted down a sequence of numbers on a napkin, folded it, and tucked it inside the cover. “There. Text me when you’re done, I’ll pick it up. How’s the cake?”

“Almost tasty. Do you want any?”

“It’s a shame to waste good cake.”

Erik agreed. It was a far better plan to watch it get eaten with relish, then to nibble on it himself and feel it turn to ash in his mouth. He sipped the rosehip tea, which was a poor substitute for the blood, but this was a crowded café and outside the sun had just come out. Technically vampires weren’t public knowledge, but there have been instances of average citizens having stakes in their bag. They wouldn’t be able to say why they had it, or what use this sharp piece of wood could possibly be, but they could be found in purses and backpacks throughout the city. Erik didn’t like the odds of one of the other patrons coming at him from behind with a wooden stake.

“So what are your plans for the evening? Are you going to a bonfire?” Charles asked once he licked his spoon clean of the vanilla sauce. “Do you own a garlic patch?”

“Don’t be such a smartass.”

Charles laughed at him, even as he continued drinking tea, until the sun was low enough on the horizon that the street outside was shadowed enough for a vampire to walk it safely.


	2. family obligations

The thing about finding Sebastian Shaw was that it was almost offensively easy. All Erik had to do was walk out of his apartment around midnight, cross the street and frighten a hobo, when he got smacked in the face with a sulphuric cloud. This became a problem, when Erik wasn’t wholly decided where he stood on the issue of finding him in the first place. Was he ready? Probably not. Did he plan for this? Well, if lying awake and imagining all the things that he could do to a vampire corpse before it ran away counted, then yes, but few of those things he imagined required breaking the laws of physics, so no, he had no plan.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” said Sebastian Shaw. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Rest assured your desires remain unrequited. Get out of my way.”

Sebastian straightens his back and brushes a speck of dust off his impeccable coat. Erik discreetly looks around for a GQ label in the air around him. He’s no expert, but the suit looks expensive. “If you’re hungry, I have a few snacks back at my place.”

“I am capable of feeding myself.”

“Yes,” Sebastian drawled. “I noticed. You feed on them and leave them to walk away, like a common mosquito.”

“I’m comfortable with who I am.”

“You are a vampire, Erik. Have you no pride?”

Erik narrowly stopped himself from full-blown incredulity. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. What do you want?”

“Such hostility. You wound me, childe.”

“You murdered me, _father_. Please do keep that in mind when seeking me out.”

Sebastian waved his misgivings away like he would an annoying fly. “I would have thought we were beyond that. I bestowed on you a gift of eternal life.”

“Mur-dered. Should I spell it out, as well? Don’t expect friendliness from homicide victims.”

“Interesting,” Sebastian said, leaning forward. His vampire mask was fixed on his features more often than not, which, as Erik understood it, was a staple of the ancient vampires. He wasn’t sure how old Shaw was, not exactly. Certainly old enough to remember the civil war, most likely older. “Hostility towards one’s sire is such a human emotion, and yet you held on to it. You, my boy, are still polluted with humanity.”

“Alternatively,” Erik said sweetly, “you are a sadistic and insane freak of nature and it is in my best interest to sever all ties. I mean, I could be wrong there.”

“You are young, Erik, so I will forgive you the insolence. You have no perspective. We are children of the night; we should rule this pathetic little world. Instead, we hide like rats.”

Here we go, Erik thought. Where was a bowl of popcorn when you needed one?

“Blah, blah, blah,” went Shaw, adopting the heroic pose all the soliloquies should be delivered in, channelling the spirit of Shakespeare at his most pompous. Erik exchanged a weary glance with the red demon, who stood to the side, polishing the edge of his tail-fin, or whatever it was his tail tapered into. Erik wasn’t up to date on demon anatomy.

Just go with it, said Azazel’s eyebrows.

Does he ever stop? Erik asked with the slightest of nods.

Not once he gets in the zone, the demon told him. He had the most eloquent facial hair Erik had ever had the pleasure of conversing with. Whatever cruel twist of fate had him in Sebastian’s debt was an injustice; a sense of style and a wardrobe full of stylish suits was a poor compensation for having to listen to this drivel every day.

I get by, said the twitch of the eyelid and a lazy swing of the tail.

“I’m sorry, what?” Erik held up a hand, because as interesting as the conversation with Azazel had been, something in Shaw’s speech had caught his attention. “What did you just say?”

“The Watcher Council,” Sebastian repeated patiently. “They have located the Slayer. She is in town, right now.”

“So? The little girl makes you worry?”

“Ah, she is not a problem,” Shaw said with the confidence of an ancient vampire with no less than seven Slayer notches on his belt. “What does worry me, however, is the Council itself. I need your help, Erik, and they will be out of our hair forever.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We get rid of the Watchers,” Shaw said waving his arms up and down like an overexcited puppy might wag his tail. Any more excitement and he would start to flutter just off the ground. “If they are gone, there will be no one to school the girls. If there is no one to school them, they cease being a problem.”

Oh fuck, Erik thought numbly. I’m fucked.

“Which is why I need you, my dear boy.”

“Not interested.”

“You will be,” Sebastian said and made a vague gesture, and fuck, why did Erik forget? He remembered everything he shouldn’t have done just as Azazel winked out of existence and there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, after which the world winked out of existence.

To be fair to his usual brainwork, the things he shouldn’t have done began with getting out of bed that evening, and when the mistakes began right there, in one’s own bed, then the day (or night) could only go downhill. Like this one.

For starters, you got your ribs broken. Maybe a dislocated shoulder. Then, if all went well, you might experience a light flaming sensation around your inexplicably bare chest. Being a vampire would be a useful advantage, because it meant that when you were strung up by your wrists you wouldn’t have trouble breathing. It still hurt, but at least you weren’t in danger of suffocating, and you would be able to scream when, and this was just a wild example, a crazed psychopath started burning lines into your torso with a blowtorch.

Erik screamed when a crazed psychopath burned a deep, scorched mark alongside his sternum with a blowtorch.

“This is simple, Erik,” Sebastian told him, with the earnest expression of a school teacher eager to make their students love fractions. Erik took pleasure in cataloguing the wrinkles which the fight left on his lovely suit – he might have been outnumbered, but he’d be fucked if he didn’t go down with maximum fight. “You know what I want from you, and yet you refuse to give it to me! I don’t think I’m being unreasonable do you?”

Erik dangled on his rope, stretched his shoulders enough to rub his scapulae together, and smiled, as sweetly as he could under the circumstances. “I don’t know, actually. You have cleverly refrained from voicing your evil plans, and proceeded straight to interrogation.”

Sebastian had the grace to look chastised. “Do excuse the oversight. At least to the extent it would be useful. What I want from you, Erik, is information.”

Sebastian sashayed to a chest in the corner and came up with a dusty crucifix. His palm smoked when he wrapped it around the hilt, and Erik carefully held in the smile as Jesus’ pained grimace was confronted with his face.

After a long moment of a very uncomfortable staring contest with a disapproving wooden Jesus and the satisfaction of watching Sebastian’s palm emit copious amounts of white smoke, Erik sighed. “I’m Jewish, Sebastian. At least do me the courtesy of respecting my faith.”

“Dear me. What an embarrassment.” Sebastian set the crucifix on fire and, alright, it hurt then. Erik screamed, cursed and counted to ten. 

“Information about what?” he asked pleasantly when he felt capable of speech.

“You are, or rather you were, a Watcher, my dear boy. You know just enough about how they operate. You have the chance to avenge yourself on your colleagues.”

Erik stared. “That’s your clever plan. Outdated information on the Watcher Council structure? You are old.”

“Do correct me, if you think I’m wrong.” Sebastian shot a quick look behind Erik’s back and smiled all too charmingly.

“Have you ever heard of the computer age?” Erik managed around a fairly brutal whip across his back. “Could you not do that? I’m trying to concentrate on logic and common sense here.”

Azazel stepped into view, coiling the red whip around his knuckles. He looked apologetic. Erik was willing to take it at face value, except it wasn’t a whip he was coiling; it was, in fact his own tail. That bordered the line of too much information. Erik turned back to Sebastian, wound down his sense of humour until it reached sub-basement levels and got in touch with his inner kindergarten teacher, with whom he had severed all contact some years previously.

“Sebastian, it is the twenty-first century. Computerisation has turned every institution upside down and that is only in the past five years. I’d been tentatively researching possible applications of magic via the computer networks as means of defence, and that was sixteen years ago. Believe me when I say they would have gone much further than that since then.”

“The Watcher Council is an institution of tradition; I very much doubt honest progress was involved since your unfortunate demise.”

“Murder, Sebastian, murder.”

“If you insist.”

Inner peace. Inner peace. Three whips, one blowtorch stripe and a flaming crucifix to the shoulder, and Erik was in a place so serene it was practically the moon. Too bad it was only a tiny island on a flaming ocean of anger. “Look, I’d love to help you, but you are clearly insane and your plan is doomed to failure. Not that I mean to discourage such attempts. I’m sure it will be fun. Do you mind if I go home now and possibly murder you along the way?”

“You still haven’t told me a thing.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “There are eleven Watchers on the Council. An unspecified number of kids they train to pick up the slack in case of a sudden death. Plus a handful of freelance operatives. Many of the Watchers are adept magicians. What, precisely, do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Sebastian said sweetly. “Their weaknesses. Their defences.”

“You realise I was here only once, right? I’d been based in Düsseldorf.”

“You were a Watcher, Erik,” Sebastian said again, with the zeal of a British crusader stuck in Arizona, asking for directions to the Holy Land. Erik caught Azazel’s eye.

Yes, he is for real, the demon said with a very shrug of his shoulders.

“This will be a long night.” Erik hanged on the annoyingly strong rope, swaying gently whenever Azazel or Shaw would give him a prod, and talked. Most of it was nonsense. A little he made up, to spice up the tale. About twenty percent was fact, although heavily outdated fact. Really, get with the times, Sebastian, Erik thought when Shaw seemed to have swallowed the tale of paper index cards in the library.

If the vampire hadn’t wrapped his brain around Google until now, he had no business wandering about god’s green earth, in Erik’s humble opinion. He deserved whatever the Watchers sent his way, and more.

“Thank you, Erik, that was illuminating,” Sebastian said.

Azazel was grinning into his goatee. Erik would return the grin, if it wasn’t for the blinding pain shooting up his spine and shoulders. Hey, no pressure. He’d just hang there, for a few hours, until his arms went completely numb.

He might actually have to kill someone when he got out.

“Not that I have plans for tonight, but how much longer do I need to stay up here?” Erik tugged at the rope until he got enough slack to plant both feet firmly on the ground. “Not that I mean to reject your hospitality, mind.”

“I really did have high hopes for you, Erik,” Sebastian said sadly. “But I’m afraid you’re not nearly as amenable to my plans as I imagined you would be.”

No fucking shit, you wanker.

“Goodbye, Erik.”

What.

“What?” Erik said, managing to convey the notion of a two dimensional plane in one simple syllable.

“Prove me wrong, dear boy. If you get out of here, I might allow you back into the family.”

“You can’t leave me here!”

Sebastian seemed almost distracted. “Oh, don’t worry. You have plenty of time to think of something. The dawn isn’t for another three hours.”

Azazel exploded in a faint sulphuring cloud, taking Sebastian with him, and Erik was left gaping at the empty space with what was, he was certain, a very stupid expression on his face. 

What. Shit. Fuck. Not good. Not good at all. Erik looked up at the skylight directly above him, then at the other skylight and then it occurred to him that there was precious little roof to count on for staying undead. He was well and truly fucked. He tugged at the rope, but Azazel was thorough and the support beams were strong. The only things that even suggested grinding were the bones in his wrists.

Erik stopped pulling and just hanged there for a minute or two. How much time did he have left? It would be just like Shaw to give him a false estimate. Did he have an hour? Two hours? How much time had passed?

Overhead, the sky was getting brighter, turning from a murky city grey to a dull purple. Dawn was coming and he was no closer to getting out of the goddamned rope. Fuck it, Erik thought and gritted his teeth. If he was going to die again, at the very least he would have preferred it not happen at Sebastian fucking Shaw’s claws. He would not die because of him again, he swore to himself, but what could he do, when his wrists were by now nothing but loose sacks of bone-chunks and his shoulders felt like they were on fire.

The portions of the sky visible through the skylight turned blue, with a pinkish hue around the edges, which was about the time when the rope gave out and Erik fell to the floor in a boneless heap. The end of the rope was right in front of his eyes, neatly severed a few yards away from his hands.

“Hurry,” Azazel said from the support beam, where he was perched like a giant, red hellcat, with his pointed tail swinging like a pendulum, counting down the seconds Erik had before the sun showed its odious face in the windows. “I hate sweeping.”

Erik got to his knees, despite the ache across his shoulders and the stiffness of his leg muscles. Through a combined effort of will and sheer dumb luck he staggered towards the thankfully unlocked door, and tumbled down the stairs. Whoever designed this house must have been deathly afraid of vampires coming to get him, he groused on the way down. Every flat surface of the wall was made of glass. The staircase faced west, so at least he would need to wait until midday to be fried, which he had no intention of doing, unless his body gave out underneath him and he would be given no choice.

He would conclude his existence by becoming a KFC special. Excellent.

Erik stumbled on the last stretch of stairs and hit the door with his shoulder. Big mistake, that. He bit through his lip to quench the scream and focussed instead on working out the knot that held his wrists bound. Small steps, he told himself. Get the rope off. Get out of here. Find a snack. Hide. Or hide then find the snack. You are a fucking vampire, you can live through this hungry.

The rope gave after a few violent tugs and Erik wrenched the door open with his good hand, ripping the lock out in his haste, then immediately slammed it shut again. Right outside there was a sunlit street.

“Fuck,” he said, taking a few steps back. Down here there were reinforced windows on every side, with a merry little sticker informing everyone of that fact in the corner of each panel. It was a matter of hours, if he was lucky, before the sun lit up the whole landing. There was no basement in sight, no place to hide but the narrow space under the stairs, which would still be illuminated before sundown. Erik stumbled that way and sat down heavily. Temporary cover was a cover nonetheless; temporary cover meant time to think.

What happened next was a string of subsequent miracles, the likes of which lead to the great scientific discoveries. As he sat he became aware of an object in his pocket, digging into his thigh. His mobile phone. Torture, whipping, a controlled fall down three flights of stairs, very infrequent charging (it’s not like he had many people he could call), and the bloody thing was in perfect working order.

God bless Nokia.

There remained one problem. Who could he call? The few people he stayed in contact with were vampires, so no help there. The one sun-proof demon he could maybe trust to help, if he was in a bind, was in Alaska. His mother… had finished mourning him fifteen years ago, and she was in Germany. Even if she could bear the shock of her dead son calling out of the blue, she would have been too late to rescue his arse.

Erik scrolled through his very limited contact list, which was turning out to be a list of people who wouldn’t spit on him when he was on fire, either because they would be on fire too, or they were too far away. Except one, if he dared to break the ultimate taboo. 

Well, he was about to die. Greetings and salutations, world, he thought as he hit connect. Fuck your stupid rules.

“Hi Charles,” he said when the signal went through. “Do you perhaps have a minute to spare?”

“Erik? This is rather sooner than I expected. Much earlier than I expected, too.” A whoosh of jaw-popping exhalation filled the receiver. Charles was speaking again before the yawn passed, mashing the words together. “Is my book alright?”

“Fuck,” Erik said, having just worked out the pitfalls of his cunning plan to be rescued. “I don’t know where I am.”

On the other end of the line Charles hesitated. “Is everything alright?”

“No.” A bright rectangle of direct sunlight on the opposite wall highlighted a half-arsed graffiti signature. Goddamned vandals. “Damn it. Your book is in my flat. Corner of Kingston and Longworth. Look in the attic.”

“You live in the attic?” Charles sounded almost amused, if one discounted the worry colouring his voice. “What happened to you?”

“A number of unpleasant things, chief among them getting stuck with no cover and the promise of inevitable sunlight within a few hours.” He supposed he could look outside, to check for the address, but that carried the risk of being incinerated on the spot. If he wasn’t hurt, maybe he would risk it. As it were, he was just tired.

“Oh shit,” Charles said.

“Yes, I know.” Erik let his hand fall. The screen of the cell continued to glow for a few minutes more and if he strained his ears he could hear Charles talking. He didn’t bother.

Altogether it would probably be a good idea to just open the door and walk out into the sun right now. The waiting game was frustrating to the highest degree. What could it hurt? He would be incinerated within seconds, leaving nothing but a handful of dust and a mobile phone behind.

He really was hungry.

He hoped Charles would find his book.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew the door was opening and someone slid inside. “There you are!”

Erik made the effort to focus, which very nearly gave him a heart attack, because the only thing he could see was sky-blue. Then his brain kindly kicked in, and started sorting the stimuli. There was sky-blue, he wasn’t hallucinating yet, but it was limited to a pair of eyes.

“Charles?”

“How many people did you call at five in the morning?”

“Just you.”

“Then I don’t see why you’d be so surprised. Come on. Take a deep breath.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Erik managed when Charles threw a tarp and then a thick blanket over his head, then proceeded to guide him outside and into what must have been a car.

“Corner of Kingston and Longworth, please. Park as close to the door as you can.”

The car started moving, and Erik slid down the seat. Fuck him sideways, he thought dumbly. He got out of the glass trap alive. Wasn’t it a day for surprises.

Fifteen minutes later they rolled to a stop. Erik heard Charles pay the cabbie and then manoeuvre them both out into the street. “It’s okay, the way is in the shade,” he said. “I hope there’s an elevator, you’re bloody heavy.”

“I’m not and there isn’t.”

Charles sighed. “It’s going to be a long morning.”

He was right. By the time they got to the final landing, Erik was half conscious and all but hanging on Charles for support. He unlocked his door, took a few more steps and fell face-first onto the bed, into the welcoming abyss of his pillow.

He woke again to a mouthful of blood. He swallowed it hungrily, even though it tasted a little stale; what could it matter, though, when it was blood, when it was life. He went for another, then another, until he could feel his fingertips tingle with anticipation. This was waking after a long sleep, on the morning of a battle; this was coming back to life.

“What happened to you?”

Erik sat up and opened his eyes to find Charles leaning over him with a half-full blood bag in his hand.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he asked instead of replying. It was genuine human blood; there was no mistaking the taste.

“We keep a small supply of blood. In case, you know. Something happens.” Charles fingered the corner of the bag, probably in an attempt to hide the embarrassed flush of his face. A pointless exercise, when Erik could chart his blood flow down to the least capillaries by smell.

“Something happens.” Erik had a good idea what that something could be. It had, after all, gotten him killed.

Charles avoided his eyes, but Erik already knows what he was going to say. “Something like interrogating a vampire.”

“You realise that it could get all of you killed. Feeding a vampire you first pissed off is not a good plan.”

“We know that. The last time someone tried five Watchers were murdered.” Charles sat down on the lone chair and handed Erik the bag. “Here.”

“I know.”

Charles took a moment before replying. “Was it you?” His hands tightened on a sharpened stake he held by his thigh, while the other went for the lighter in his pocket. He was still too young, and too poor a poker player, to hide the nervous reflex, despite his enviable acting skills.

Erik would have like to draw the moment out, torment the stupid child with the uncertainty of who, exactly, he had just saved. He didn’t. “I was murdered then, yes.”

“You were a Watcher?” Charles’ eyes grew wide in wonder and both his hands came forth, empty, to rest on his knees. “Really?”

“I’m not that excited, it got me killed. Not that being a vampire doesn’t have its perks.” Erik lay back down and sucked the blood bag dry. It was nowhere near enough, but before he could finish Charles was holding out another. “Thank you. How did you find me?”

“Tracking spell.”

“You can do that?”

“It’s a simple spell.”

It was a simple spell, like most, to a focussed, trained mind. Erik was tentatively impressed and a whole lot more ravenous. Waiting quietly for death left a man subdued, maudlin even. Returning from the edge, however, ignited the spirit, ignited the blood. Soon he wouldn’t be pleasant to be around. Soon he wouldn’t be safe.

“What happened to you?” Charles asked. His voice was too quiet. Erik could barely hear it over the rush of blood. He could, however, feel Charles’ gaze on his naked chest, where the burns and cuts were visible. He must have cleaned them while Erik was out, because there was the faint stench of rubbing alcohol.

“My sire is a little unhinged, shall we say.”

“You look awful.”

“I don’t feel much better.” Erik closed his eyes and sucked on the plastic blood bag. Despite the staleness, this was a quality meal – clean, sweet and filling; the donor must have been young. Wrong train of thought. Shutting off his nose was this side of impossible, so he was essentially chewing through dry popcorn in an effort not to dive for the fucking steak, fried with garlic and honey. Erik had saliva flooding his mouth. His brain was helpfully listing the many ways in which he could dispose of a body in the privacy of his attic, and Charles was babbling like a two year old on speed, mindless of the danger.

“You should go,” Erik interrupted his diatribe on vampire nutrition. “I’m very hungry right now.”

Charles didn’t react visibly, although his heart did pick up the pace ever so slightly. Ah, the stupidity of youth. He got up, clutching the stake to his chest in a casual manner, like it was just an object he happened to be holding, and not the only thing standing between Erik and the best dinner of his life. “I can’t believe I’m even here, to be honest.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Bye.” Charles picked up his backpack and turned to leave.

“Hey.” Erik lifted himself off the bed an inch. Fuck vampire solidarity, if there was any. They were bloody demons. Treachery was in the job description. “Tell your folks to be careful. Shaw is planning to move against the Watchers and he is absolutely insane, so there’s no telling what his clever plan entails. It could be a nuke from orbit, or it could be rubbing garlic soup into your hair. He has a pet demon which teleports, so chasing him might get complicated.”

“We’ll be careful.”

Erik waited until the boy was very nearly at the door before he spoke again. “Thank you, Charles.”

Charles stopped with his hand on the handle. He didn’t look back. “Well, I can’t say anytime, for obvious reasons, but you’re welcome. Goodbye, Erik.”

When he left, Erik fell asleep. He woke later that evening with his stomach crawling out of his mouth to get to the nearest warm neck. It took all the self-control he possessed to get dressed (fuck, his shoulder protested being made to put on a shirt) and get far enough from his home to feed properly. Blood in bags was tasteless sustenance; blood out of the veins was living. He felt marginally better when he was dropping the bloodless corpse in the back of the alley.

He didn’t go looking for Charles after that, mostly because the child had saved his life and there was a good chance he would want the favour returned, which Erik wasn’t going to bother with. The boy was food. He should skip town and not eat him; that would see the debt repaid. Better still, he should eat him, then skip town. He would be happy and everyone would move on with their lives.

Everybody except Charles, who would be dead.

Pro: Erik would get to drain the kid down to the last drop. He’d even go as far as kidnapping him to his lair and taking his time, until he was a dry husk.

Con: it would be a one-time thing only. Charles wasn’t the only worthy meal in the neighbourhood, but he ranked high enough to make any vampire with a discerning palate reconsider.

Pro: he would be delicious.

Con: Charles had a fondness for vintage sci-fi, and was willing to run interference with the library on Erik’s behalf. Killing him would mean being bored out of his skull until September, at the very least.

Pro: mouth-watering.

Con: permanent.

Pro: really fucking tasty.

Con: the most interesting conversationalist, scoring bonus points for not limiting himself to world domination or magic.

Pro: … yum.

Alright, the pro/con game was a wash. Erik trudged into the bar, ordered a whiskey, took it into the corner and started brooding. He took up the best table in the establishment, but no one dared disturb him, because he brooded like a champion even when he was alive, and with the added vampire charm he could clear the room by smiling at it. Keeping one measly table unoccupied was easy as pie.

Now that he was past the initial denial, he ought to be able to get himself out of the pickle with ease. He was smart and in possession of no moral compass whatsoever; why was the problem of killing the boy so mind-numbing?

Killing him posed the obvious set of problems: the boy was attractive, white and, judging by his mien, rich. No way in hell his death would go unnoticed. Then there was the fact that he belonged to a sect which devoted its members to killing Erik’s kind; altogether the prospects of the authorities dismissing his murder as a freak death were low, even in this town. If there was anyone there with whom Charles had an honest connection, Erik would find himself on the business end of a personal vendetta, and those very rarely ended well for a vampire. They were fragile creatures.

He could turn him. Here was a thought. Erik wasn’t one for companionship, but there was no rule that said he needed to stick around all the time. This, however, invited a host of other problems. Sure, the brain and the love for sci-fi would remain, but how many vampires retained their personality after turning? Or at least the important bits of it? The more time he spent circling the underground the more Erik understood that he was a freak of nature, in that he managed to hold on to his intensely pragmatic views (not that he was blind to the fact that he could casually cut up a human being and enjoy the screams as a sign of a job well done, which, in life would have caused him to wince or possibly wear headphones). There was no telling what would climb out of Charles’ grave. It would certainly be smart, but other than that? It wouldn’t be compassionate enough to help out a sworn enemy. It would be clever, meticulous, and a vicious bloodsucker. Charles liked to know how people worked, which was easy enough to glean from the fact he would speak with Erik with genuine curiosity and very little judgement.

Erik had met a similar child, once. Some incautious moron had turned the girl, just to see what her boyfriend would do. There had been vivisections. When she finally killed her sire, she had been clad in a necklace made from chunks of his bone, and nothing else.

“What the fuck am I even doing,” Erik asked the distorted reflection of the wall behind his back. Being able to admire what was directly behind him through a mirror was relatively useful, if confusing.

“You seem to be talking to yourself.” Charles was beaming as he took a seat opposite Erik, holding his wrist at such an angle that the watch was clearly visible, but his sudden presence momentarily blinded Erik to the fact that he just spent an hour debating the merits of murdering the owner of that watch.

“How is that in a bar full of vampires and demons you, a tender, juicy human, are the only one brave enough to come to my table?” Erik asked, hitting himself in the teeth with the glass.

“I take it I’m the only one who’s ever spoken with you. I can’t say the dramatics are unattractive, but come on. How old are you?”

“Old enough. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to confirm some details. You weren’t answering your phone.”

Erik had removed the battery, ground the SIM card into pieces and threw the whole thing into three separate sewers. Relying on outside help would get him killed. Relying on the human’s help would make surviving unbearable.

“Maybe you should take a hint,” he told Charles and busied himself with raising the alcohol content in his bloodstream by sheer force of will.

“Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. I just came across a few holes in my research, and I was hoping you could help me. It’s about your sire.”

“Do you know what I’ve been doing, Charles?” Erik leaned over the table and, after making sure no one was looking in his direction, forced his vampire face to form. “I’ve been trying to work out how to kill you without getting dusted by your friends.”

“Well, whatever you try, please don’t turn me,” Charles said, with remarkable shrewdness. Erik felt the jolt shoot straight through him.

“You are appallingly calm about this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have no intention of letting you kill me, and if you seriously tried, a few people would come after you with stakes and fire, whether I lived or died. I’m concerned about being turned, because my research indicates that psychic powers contribute to insanity and intelligence tends to translate into cruelty, when it’s not kept in check by empathy. I am very empathic and still I manage to hurt people’s feelings when it really suits me. I think I would be a terrible vampire, and I mean that as in Vlad the Impaler terrible.”

“You are very ambitious.”

It was like he wasn’t even speaking, because Charles went right on with the monologue. “It makes me wonder about you. You’re not particularly cruel, but you obviously are intelligent. Either my theories are wrong, or something else is at work here.” Charles propped his chin on his hands. “You feel just like every other vampire I’ve met, so it must be something else.”

“Chalk it up to teenage rebellion. I wasn’t keen on empathy when I was alive; I’m making up for it now.”

Charles _fluttered_ with excitement. Erik could imagine him whipping up a notebook on vampire customs and jotting down the new and interesting facts. “How do you know?”

A fair question. Demons felt, Erik was sure of it – at least the demon who thought he was Erik thought he felt – even if their emotional range wouldn’t surpass that of a great white shark, tempered by his understanding of consequences and the reach of the Watcher community. One superpowered girl in the entire world was not nearly a problem for a solitary vampire, she could be avoided; a millennia-old organisation of magic users, spanning the globe, was a problem to a solitary vampire who had once been a member.

“My wife said as much when she walked out the door, after we lost a child. I believe her actual words were ‘you’re a fucking soulless icicle, Erik, and I hope you burn in hell.’”

Charles deflated. “That seems harsh,” he ventured.

“It’s a loose translation. The actual words were less savoury.” Erik shrugged. “I was complaining about her whining about it immediately before.” One would imagine that it went away when the man died and the demon replaced him, but Erik remembered the ache with vivid clarity, even now. He couldn’t feel it any more than he could feel sympathy for Magda, but he remembered the choking sadness that caused him to attempt drowning in a glass of scotch. Not feeling anything was a liberating experience, in comparison. Even after sixteen years Erik was content to float on the cloud of not giving a fuck whether – or how – anyone lived or died. It was the quintessence of freedom: no emotional attachments, no religion, no government, no one to define his boundaries, but himself.

“Wow. I see what you mean.” Charles was giving him a faintly horrified look, one that was nonetheless backed up by fascination. He was looking at Erik but also through him; perhaps those were the psychic powers at work. Perhaps he’d seen the bottom of the empty pot of Erik’s emotions, or lack thereof. Perhaps it would be enough to scare him off. 

Charles was still there, however, three minutes later, giving Erik an appraising once-over. The appraisal must have turned out favourably, because he was digging into his backpack and coming up with a small laptop. “Drat, lousy battery. Would you mind?”

Erik rolled his eyes but connected the charger to the socket behind his chair.

“Thanks. So, here’s what I have.” Charles swivelled the computer around and moved to a chair next to Erik. “Far as I could tell he first appeared in our records in 1267, although I think he is far older than that. I have a theory that he was a prophet when he was alive – some of his recorded comments would indicate a propensity for visions, and given that every mention of him inevitably ends up in either nukes or rubbing soup into people’s hair, I figure he must have been quite the strong one. I narrowed it down to three possible candidates.”

As the kid spoke, Erik’s eyebrows inched higher and higher, until he felt them merge with his high hairline. He was looking at a neat, precise spreadsheet, with a timeline and reference notes, cataloguing not only the source of the information, but also cross-references, substantiating the validity of the claim and the source. It was certainly more than Erik bothered to find out about Sebastian when they first met, or any of the times after.

“This is very nice,” he said, feeling Charles swell up with pride beside him, “But all it does it tells us he is insane and sadistic, which we already knew.”

“I know.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck and deflated visibly. “Okay, but I was bored and I figured it never hurts to study the threat. I also did one on you.”

“I’m flattered.”

Charles’ red mouth curved into an impish smile. “It is very boring.”

“I’m enjoying my unlife. I don’t want to draw attention to it.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Charles flipped through the sheets in Shaw’s file until he stopped at something Erik vaguely recognised as…

“Moon phases. You were bored.”

“There is the theory that psychics are attuned to the cycles of the moon. I thought it might be worth verifying, and I do think there is a correlation.” He went to another chart, and this time Erik leaned in with genuine interest, then disbelief.

“You’re trying to tell me Sebastian’s insanity is in direct proportion to how much moon is visible,” he said flatly.

“The data seems to suggest as much. This is why I’m here tonight. If I’m right he will be on the soup rubbing stage this week, and I think I can survive a pot of soup to the head.”

Erik’s gaze flickered to the shiny, well-groomed hair atop his head and tries not to imagine the cursing which would follow food’s contact with it. “You are insane.”

“I have factual support. I grant you, it may prove to be a coincidence. I don’t think our records have much where the finer points of his mental stability are concerned; we were much busier with him sticking people on poles and leaving them to scream their way down. There are only a few soup incidents and those would be easily explained by, oh, anything.”

“That is a little insane.”

“Vampires aren’t known for their common sense and psychics are sensitive to the moon phases. It’s a well-documented fact. My abilities go up and down like a yo-yo depending on the moon. Right now it’s mostly about the range; around full moon I’m aware of the whole city.”

“I’m always happy to hear about your menstrual cycles. How does that help?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Charles bristled in the most adorable fashion. He was about as threatening as a tiny cocker spaniel, and held grudges about as well. “Not much, I admit,” he said half a minute later. “I mostly went looking for you to find out if you can help me add some details from the time you were with him.”

Erik let out a long, pointless sigh. “What do you want to know?” He regretted it. Charles proceeded to quiz him about just about everything. Literally everything. “I hardly see how the colour of his favourite shirt is relevant.”

“It’s not, but it might come in useful, if he’s ever caught on camera. Plus, my great-grandmother had this theory that colour coordination is correlated with life choices.” At Erik’s sceptical glance he added, “She wasn’t wholly sane. Powerful psychic, but she leaned towards the insane on the spectrum of usefulness, at least it seemed that way when she was alive.”

“An insane prophet, how shocking.”

“I got to meet her a few times before she died. She was a wonderful person. My parents used to tell me I looked just like her when I was little. I have done so much research on her! She wrote the most amazing stories in her diaries. She was psychic, of course, so she knew where to hide them for me, or rather for her future granddaughters, because about half are about a Slayer and an ensouled vampire and a tragic romance. It’s all very Shakespearean.”

“You have a lot of free time. In my day there was a lot less time to be spent on insane grandmothers.”

Charles rolled his eyes and flipped through the accumulated spreadsheets. “Most of the classes are easy and I get bored so easily. Research is fun and Shaw is a very old vampire, so it’s both challenging and interesting, knocking together all those historical facts and backgrounds. You’d know all about it, of course; I read your research papers.”

Erik blinked. “You read my papers?”

“Changing your name didn’t exactly make it impossible to identify you, you know. And I read them before, immediately after they were translated into English.” Charles switched between windows and brought up a folder filled with .pdf files. “This one is my favourite.”

It was Erik’s favourite, too. It had been a slow year, so he burrowed deep in the bowels of the Düsseldorf library on the supernatural, creating what he would later find out to be a defining work on St. Germain. It pleased him to no end that the original title had been preserved in the electronic version, even if “Dead or Alive: Still a Dickhead” didn’t roll off the tongue in academic context.

Charles tapped the arrow keys a few times, just so Erik could fully appreciate the neatness of electronic conversion, and asked, “So, is there any chance I could get a signed copy?”

“If you have a copy to sign.”

“I can arrange something.”

Some two hours and three glasses of scotch later Charles finally packed up his laptop and the two of them wandered out into the street, laughing. Erik didn’t remember what they were laughing about, just that at some point of the interview Charles’ smile turned from a polite crook of the lips to a full-blown grin, which lit up not only his face but the entirety of the grimy, demon-infested bar, and Erik couldn’t help but adjust the anecdote to include a penis joke, and well. They started giggling, in unison, as though it was the most hilarious thing known to man.

This was a revelation. Erik hadn’t thought Watchers had much in the way of sense of humour, and he had been one of them.

It was a lovely night. Sure, the sky was strewn with clouds, and the only stars that could be seen through the light pollution were the really persistent ones, but the beauty shone through all the same. The traffic was minimal, the streetlamps bathed the alleys in a thoroughly creepy yellowish light, and a vampire was strolling down the avenue with a Watcher in tow.

“We should walk into a bar,” Erik told Charles. Never mind they just got out of one, they should find another and walk into it, purely for the sake of narrative causality.

Charles responded to the suggestion by doubling over in laughter.

Erik completely understood. It was very funny. He should pursue a career in stand-up comedy, he was sure to make a killing.

Somehow it was growing less funny when he kept looking at Charles. He didn’t even remember making a conscious decision, but somehow when Charles stopped laughing to draw a breath he was trapped between Erik and the brick wall at his back. Neither of them was laughing anymore.

Erik tried to remember the boy was a rather competent Watcher; that he had the lighter with which he killed vampires as easily as he shared his research with them, and that Erik had neglected holding his wrists immobile. It seemed unimportant when his teeth were only inches away from the curve of Charles’ jaw, inches away from the beating pulse, from his red blood. The roar was deafening; as loud as a thundering waterfall, nearly enough to send his still heart into throes of a frantic, echoing beat. Erik bent his head and followed the smooth curve of Charles’ jaw to his chin. He could bite his neck in half. He could drain him in seconds, he could kill and maim and destroy, he was a fucking vampire, goddamn it!

Discovering that he was kissing Charles instead of ripping his arteries open was therefore more than a little surprising. The dry brick was coarse against his palms, the alley smelled of dirt and trash and sweaty bodies – there might have been a back entrance to some club, Erik didn’t care – but Charles’ lips were warm, open and inviting.

He’d almost forgotten what it was like to kiss a living creature, not to revel in pain, neither causing nor receiving it. Charles was making soft noises into his mouth, his hands twisted in Erik’s shirt under his jacket, lightly digging into the skin. Erik could swear he could feel the pulse in his fingertips radiating throughout his dead flesh, meeting the waves caused by his heartbeat, the two interfering and exploding on contact until his whole being was a pulse, until he could swear he was alive again.

Living, the demon thought, was underrated.

“Eww, dudes, tone down the PDA. No one wants to see you playing tonsil hockey.”

Erik brushed a final kiss onto Charles’ mouth, then the tip of his nose. He needed to breathe like he needed sunglasses at night, but he took a deep breath all the same. The thoroughly offensive tone struck a primordial urge to spill some blood. “Why don’t you come on closer and we discuss this in detail,” he said, sickly sweet.

“Erik,” Charles started saying, but Erik stilled his mouth with a delicate brush of his lips, barely touching the skin.

“You heard me. I ain’t caring what you get up to in your place, but keep yourselves off the streets, ‘kay? Some of us enjoy not throwing up our dinners.”

The kid talked big, with his three chums shadowing his every move. Erik grinned manically, which was lost on the audience for lack of proper lighting. He let go of Charles and, fast enough that the unfortunate dickhead would only know what hit him, not that it did, was across the alley to punch him in the face.

One of the lesser advantages to being undead was that he could finally punch morons in the face without worrying about pesky breaks of his own carpal bones, and hot damn was it satisfying.

“Comments?” he asked the cronies, who stood over the still body of their fearless leader. They had between them more brains then the fallen idiot, because as one they vamoosed from the alley, as though the devil himself was on their heels.

Erik watched them go, still grinning, until his gaze fell on Charles’ enraged expression. “What? They were dicks.”

“They were human.” Charles knelt by the unfortunate dickhead and checked his pulse.

“I wouldn’t have killed him,” Erik muttered. “I’m not a moron.”

“I bloody well hope not.” Charles fished out a mobile from his jeans and dialled nine-nine-nine. “Hello, I’m in an alley just off High Street, opposite number two-oh-three. There’s a man here, I think he might be badly concussed. Yes, he has a pulse. He’s breathing. I don’t know what happened, he might have hit a brick wall with his face. Hard to say if he’s conscious.” The guy groaned. “He is making pained noises; I’ll take that as a yes. He might be under the influence. Of course. Thank you.”

Erik folded his arms. “He doesn’t deserve your help.”

“Sadly, chronic stupidity is not a crime yet. I can’t just leave him here.”

“Darwin is weeping in his grave. Why not allow natural selection to take care of it?”

Charles looked up at him brushing the bangs off his forehead impatiently. The man at his feet groaned pitifully. “How on earth do you qualify as natural selection, luv? You’re anything but natural.”

“I’d have socked him when I was alive, too,” Erik said, folding his arms.

“And you would have gotten a broken nose for your trouble.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I used to be decent in hand-to-hand combat.”

“You can’t fly off the handle whenever someone looks at you wrong. Do control yourself.”

Erik glared, and he was certain that, for a moment, he went full-on vampire. “He interrupted me.”

Charles returned his gaze coolly, not in the slightest fazed by the implication. Not that Erik was going to take it anywhere, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t an option. “He interrupted us, Erik. I do get a say.”

“We’re an ‘us’ now?” Erik all but spat.

“You can’t kiss someone like that and not have an ‘us’ in mind.” Charles bent to check the pupils of the half-conscious victim of Erik’s jerkophobia. Erik didn’t much care for the dismissal.

“You live a charmed life, on a collision course with massive disappointment, if you believe that.”

“Walk away then.” Charles stared at him, and something inside Erik, something small and thoroughly demonic, boiled.

“Maybe I will.” But he remained rooted to the spot, never breaking eye-contact.

The wailing of an ambulance cut through their glaring contest. The van parked right in front of the alley and who should jump out if not Charles’ little girlfriend. Fantastic, Erik thought, crossing his arms. Just what they were missing.

“Hello again, Erik, was it?”

“None of your business,” he growled in her direction and turned to glare at Charles some more, except Charles wasn’t there. There was only the growling heap on the floor, which immediately commanded Moira’s full attention, and, above it all, the faintest hint of sulphur in the air.

Erik was certain that if he hadn’t been dead for the past decade and a half, his heart would have stopped beating right then. Shaw had Charles.

Shaw had Charles.


	3. the unbirthday

There was no time to panic. There was ample cause to panic. Erik clenched his fists and walked, forcing himself to go slowly, even though Moira was yelling at him to stop, which he did only to pick up Charles’ backpack.

He was going to find Shaw and he was going to rip his spine out and then he was going to fry the remains in the midday sun, and fertilise his fern with the ashes. He would get a bloody fern just for that purpose and he would keep and coddle it and call it Sebby.

Problem: he didn’t know where Shaw was hiding.

Small problem. He could tear buildings apart.

Bigger problem: that would take time.

Biggest problem: Charles was alive and therefore fragile. He might not have the time.

Erik began his search by zipping across town, to the attic where he’d been interrogated. It was empty. The sad little knot was still hanging from the support beam. The only change was the vivid red stain right below, which someone used to scrawl a very untidy message.

_Come to the museum, they have art!!!_

Well, on some level it was heartening. It implied tonight was a garlic soup night, not a nuke ‘em night.

It was nearly midnight when Erik started circling the town’s museums. He ruled out the modern art from the get-go – Shaw had very conservative views on what constituted art. For the same reason he skipped the museum of natural history and technology. It spoke volumes about Shaw that in the age when technology developed at the drop of a hat he would choose to wallow in the long-dead classics, ignoring the former completely.

Finally, around two in the morning, Erik broke the lock of a small house, dedicated to displaying the works of some hack of a writer in its original setting. There was no blood in the air. Most people would relax. Sadly Erik was very much aware how easy it was to cause excruciating pain without drawing a drop of blood.

On the bright side, he could smell Charles. He’d been here. He was here. So were Shaw and Azazel, but Charles was there and he wasn’t bleeding. That was a promising start.

Erik patted the backpack for a weapon and came up with the lighter. Uncomfortable, when it seemed capable of incinerating a vampire on the spot, but again, Shaw was a vampire. Being on fire couldn’t hurt that bad, Erik thought as he advanced through the darkness, to where his nose was leading him. Charles was there, in the attic, unharmed for the time being. Charles, Shaw, Azazel and cheesecake.

What.

Erik pushed the door open and found himself speechless.

“Erik!” Charles said with the brightest smile anyone has ever directed at him, alive or dead. It might have been aided by his addition of, “I was getting worried.”

“What?” Erik managed, taking in the lacy cloth on the table, the fine china and the exquisite strawberry cheesecake, sitting on a crystal plateau.

“Do join us, my boy,” Sebastian said, gesturing to the empty chair. “Care for some blood?”

“You are not touching Charles,” Erik growled, unconsciously shifting into his vampire face.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shaw took the cosy off one of the two teapots, poured a cup and held it out in Erik’s direction.

It was blood, without doubt. Fresh blood, at that. But it didn’t come from Charles. Erik cast a suspicious look into Charles’ teacup, but both he and Azazel were enjoying some spicy tea, thoroughly mundane, as much as anything could be mundane when a six-foot tall red demon was daintily sipping tea from a flower-patterned porcelain cup.

Erik took the offered drink and took a seat. “Why yes, Sebastian, I would love a new hat.”

“Pardon me?” Shaw threw him the most puzzled look over the rim of the porcelain.

“He’s been perfectly polite,” Charles told Erik under his breath. “This has to be the most civil tea party I have ever been kidnapped to, and I’ve attended my mother’s tea parties.”

“Congratulations. Sebastian, why are we here?”

“You are my favourite childe, Erik,” Sebastian said, without much concern for logical progression or the answering of questions, or even the odd murder attempt other people would hold against him. “It is quite the honour, as I rarely even bother with childes, unless they catch my eye. You have. If nothing else, your refusal to simply succumb to your betters, in the face of being overwhelmed, was something I’ve rarely seen, even among our kin.”

Something cold was dripping down Erik’s neck, seeping through the pores into his skin and immobilising him from the spinal column outward. He remembered that speech. He remembered hearing it in his final moments, when the vampire was forcing his mouth open and pouring poisonous blood inside, until he choked, until he was half-conscious and his body was too weak to fight the instinct to swallow rather than drown in it.

But there was no vampire blood in the cake or the tea, so at least he wasn’t going to turn Charles by surprise.

“I never thought you would be ready to sire childes of your own so soon, but here we are.” The ancient vampire put aside his drink and leaned over the table, to gaze into Charles’ eyes. “You are a psychic, are you not?”

“Guilty.” Charles held his own cup tightly; his fingers must have been stiff with effort, but his hand didn’t shake. Erik admired bravado. He would have admired it more if it wasn’t himself and a human boy against and ancient vampire and a demon of undetermined age and experience.

“I dreamed about you,” Sebastian was saying meanwhile, in a dreamy tone of voice. “I thought it was crazy, at first, because it was unthinkable that one person would be capable of such destruction without being one of the Old Ones, but there you are, bright and happy and thoroughly human.”

This was not a good sign. Erik tensed, griping the lighter tightly, ready to set everything on fire, but Shaw continued speaking, as though he didn’t notice.

“From the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, the dreams clarified. I have watched you die, at Erik’s hands, or mouth, should I say, I have seen you rise from the dust into the moonlit night. You rose and the world burned around you.” Sebastian folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “You, my young friend, hold a remarkable potential, but I imagine I’m not surprising you.”

Charles speared a strawberry on his plate and brought it to his lips. “I’m afraid I’m closer to the present on the psychic spectrum. I’m hopeless at prophecies. The only chronic dream I’ve ever had was dying with not a soul in sight in my own library, which a monkey could predict.”

“Trust me, then. The world will be bathed in blood on your account. I cannot congratulate you enough, Erik; I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

Erik would happily accept congratulations in the form of spontaneous combustion. Failing that a free lift, to anywhere in the world for a person of his choosing would also be good, preferably somewhere sunny, like the middle of the Sahara at high noon.

Sebastian stole a strawberry from the cake from under Azazel’s nose and inhaled. “I miss the smell of fruit. I miss apples the most. So much could have been done with just an apple, or an apple tree. We absolutely must visit an orchard. I am dying for a basket of apples.”

Azazel caught Erik’s eye.

Yes, he is for real, his gaze said. I don’t know if he ever smokes anything, though, even if it would explain a lot. He doesn’t share.

Something must have brought Sebastian back from his merry fantasy of orchards and apples, because his blank gaze refocused when Erik tried to stand up, surreptitiously dragging Charles along. “I wanted to wish you both luck. Erik was always destined for greatness that is without question. He does, however, display a worrying tendency to remain unacknowledged. Everything will change now. I imagine I will see the flames.

“I think,” he continued in a much softer, faraway voice, “That we will all see the flames; that the human world will finally fall. That you will take it down yourself, my dear boy.”

Erik clenched his hand around Charles’, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into the boy’s palm. One more thing to envy the living – the pulse there was a comfort, a steady reminder that no matter what, the heart continued to beat; even if it quickened, it was still comforting.

Charles shuddered and then yawned, even as Erik listened to the thundering thumping of his heart against his ribcage. He was certain that if he focussed he would be able to pinpoint the chords a particular rib struck. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Dear me,” Sebastian said, fluttering off his chair like a bloody hummingbird. “You must go to bed, immediately. Erik, see to it. The boy needs to rest. He needs to eat! You look underfed, child. Have some more cake. In fact, why don’t you take it all, for later?”

Azazel expressed his nonverbal displeasure at the prospect of sharing more of the cake. Erik understood. He was displeased at the thought of having to share Charles.

“Thank you,” Charles said, smiling in a way that was completely at odds with the terror wracking his body. Too bad the skills were wasted on the audience, all of which had the extra senses with which to perceive acting.

Sebastian leaned forward once more, to steal the fork from Charles’ fingers, take his hand in both of his and stroke the knuckles with his thumb. “There, there,” he said. “No need for fright. It is quite the exhilarating experience, I’ll have you know. The world becomes so clear. You will understand everything so much better. Once you’ve seen a heart beating in the open air you know all there is to know about humanity. They are simple creatures, don’t you know. Delicious, of course, but mostly simple.”

“There are branches of academia dedicated to proving you wrong.”

“Ah, academia.” Sebastian drained his cup quickly, leaving a bloody moustache above his upper lip. “Really? That’s your sole defence of the human race? Darling, you are even more perfect than I imagined.” He put the cup down and stood up. “Now, as to the other matter.”

Erik shot out of his chair before he was even aware of it and gripped Shaw’s collar. “You are not turning him.”

Sebastian blinked. “Turn him? Erik, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of it!”

Erik reviewed the conversation up to this point. “Then what the fuck were you on about?” He had been so sure. It had been obvious. Then again, Shaw was crazy, so…

“I’m not going to turn him, when clearly you plan to. I’m not quite so ill-mannered as to encroach on your territory.”

Somewhere to the right Azazel was pouring Charles more tea and grudgingly wrapping up the strawberry cheesecake. Erik registered that, because his brain refused to process anything else.

“I can’t say I follow.”

“I won’t pretend I wouldn’t like to, you understand. I’m sure it would be magical. Unfortunately,” Sebastian said slowly, savouring the slipping syllables, “He is too young. I expected better from you, Erik, than debauching a teenager. I never figured you for the type.”

Erik wasn’t expecting the fatherly reproach in his manner any more than he would expect a surprise piranha attack on dry land.

“I tried to instil in you a sense of class. Teenagers are bothersome, loud and unpredictable. I had one, once – I ended up dusting her within her first year, she was so persistently _teenaged_. Do wait until he matures into someone interesting, if you can bear the wait. If not, well, we will prevail, I’m sure.”

Erik didn’t manage to close his mouth until well after Sebastian finished speaking. He was still reeling when, five minutes later, he and Charles were out on the street, with the cheesecake, clutching each other’s hands like Catholic schoolgirls confronted with a boy choir.

In Erik’s defence, Charles was the first to let out the hysterical giggle.

*****

Sometime later, when they were both calm, Erik hailed a cab.

“I could have walked,” Charles said when he was pushed into the backseat.

Walked, when every street corner was a potential kidnap zone. When every step could be his last, when the whole bloody city was crawling with demons and curses and vampires and fuck knows what else. No, Erik wasn’t having that. Shaw had to be playing a game; he was good at games. He could fuck a man’s head into an unholy mess until it turned in on itself and ate him alive, without even trying. Charles would be safe, he decided abruptly. He would go home, and if he was half as smart as he claimed he was, his home would have been demon-proofed like there was no tomorrow.

“You are going home.” Erik glared and Charles sighed and mumbled an address to the driver. Erik was busy stewing in his righteous panic, so it was only when they were pulling in in front of a stately mansion, after a long minutes of travelling over gravel and a lack of any lights whatsoever, that he exploded.

“You would have walked here?”

“Well, yes. This is my home.”

“Unbelievable. Do you know how many ways there are to hide a body in these bushes?”

“Approximately five hundred. I know.”

The driver shuddered and tried to become one with his cab, on the basis that no one would think of hurting the steering wheel. No one sane, at least. Erik grinned in full view of the rear mirror, which the man only noticed when he dared to turn his head. Gravel shot out from underneath the tyres as the cabbie pulled in in front of the house with a very impressive panicked squeal.

He was gone as soon as Charles dropped a tenner through the slit in the window.

“I’m not sure he deserved that tip,” Charles said. “You’re going to have to walk home.”

“I’ll live. Or not.”

Charles threw one of his hands into the air, minding the cheesecake he held in the other. “Wonderful, we are now in the realm of bad puns. My mind is already stimulated.”

“Sebastian is bloody smart, if your protection isn’t good enough, you are done.”

“Sebastian is a vampire, Erik. He will not get into the house, period.”

“He has a teleporting demon.”

“Yes, and the house is layered in enough magic to make teleportation inside impossible. We are not amateurs, Erik.”

This was promising. Charles laughed at his expression, but the laughter died quickly, when Erik pulled him close and shifted into his vampire mask. “Do not make jokes about this. You are a stupid child; you have no idea what Shaw’s capable of! If he wants you turned, you will be turned, and no amount of silly humans with their meagre magic skills will stop him.”

Unlike in the museum, now Charles was calm. He didn’t fear Erik, and if he did, not even a twitch betrayed him. “Let me go.”

Erik didn’t. He walked them both to the door, where he could press the boy against the cool wood and snarl into his face. “This is fucking serious! Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Charles told him. “Come inside and I’ll show you.”

Just like that Erik shattered. He hadn’t spoken with many vampires, because they were brutes who didn’t deserve his time, so he didn’t know if any of them felt like he did just then. He didn’t know if they acknowledged the invitations like a full-body caress that felt like silk and hot chocolate used to feel. That’s what it was, though. Charles’ palm was wrapped around his as he pulled them both through the threshold into a home. Erik felt the magical protection keenly; he felt the house, Charles’ home, invite him inside. Even though it was a mansion far too big for one boy, he knew immediately that Charles was the only one who lived there. Oh, there were other scents mingling with his: a girl, elderly men and women, people long dead, but only Charles’ was consistent, over and under everything, regardless of guests. The place was profoundly his. 

There were a few jackets hanging by the door, of varying sizes, a peculiarly feminine scarf wrapped around the hook, but even that bore a hint of Charles, like he held it in his hands before it was hung.

Erik was still wallowing in the absolutely magical feeling of being inside a home, when he was hit in the face with a bat.

“What the actual fuck?” he asked, when the creature hit him again, squeaked, crawled all over his head and took off, flapping its wings one at a time. “Is that thing drunk?”

Charles was frowning at a crossbow by the door. “I was certain she got them all.”

“What the fuck is that thing?” Erik asked, keeping an eye on the creature fluttering high by the ceiling, probably trying to have sex with the chandelier. He was still looking up when something went “twang” and an arrow pierced the bat’s chest on its way to the opposite wall. The creature exploded into a flutter of dust motes, gliding back towards the floor like a lazy cloud, and the arrow was left stuck in the opposite corner, high on the wall.

Charles was propping the crossbow against the wall, like nothing happened. He looked at Erik over his shoulder, wearing the smallest smile, and Erik tried not to think how very warm it felt, to see Charles shoot things. “Look here,” he said, and when Erik frowned, he took his hand and placed it on a carving in the wooden doorframe. It felt warm to the touch, so much so that Erik was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep touching it for long, lest his palm burn. “Do you feel that?”

It took a moment to place the design, which seemed to twist away from his cognizance. “It’s Enochian. Demon script in Enochian.”

“It’s also all over the place. Most of those are reasonably new – my stepfather was crazy paranoid, as opposed to the rest of my family, who were merely suspicious. The place was demon-tight for centuries though.”

“How crazy is the rest of your family?”

“Come and see.”

Erik followed him up a flight of stairs, into an unfairly lovely study, with huge windows, which opened onto a wide terrace. Watchers didn’t get lodgings like this during Erik’s tenure. He had the feeling it was a little unfair. 

Charles picked up a leather-bound journal from the shelf. It must have been frequently read, because it had post-it notes stuck to almost every page. “There’s no way a demon gets into this house,” Charles said quietly, while Erik skimmed the details of a protective charms carved into the foundations of the mansion. “Not without my say-so.”

This was reassuring.

“So, no more panic attacks?”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

“You are so panicking.” Charles grinned, even as Erik scowled, which was more than most people managed. What was more, he held the grin for over ten seconds, after which he broke into laughter. “I’m psychic, remember? Vampires feel, don’t try telling yourself you don’t. It’s just different. Humans feel like physical sensations, with vampires it’s mostly taste. It’s really funny, but your panic tastes bitter and cold, like ice-blended coffee.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It would be funny if I caught it on tape and sent it to a talk show. My vampire is having a doozy, please advise.”

Erik bristled. “A doozy?”

“Yes,” Charles said, tapping Erik’s nose. “A doozy.”

“My psychotic sire wants me to turn you into a vampire and you don’t think it’s a cause for concern?”

“I can handle myself.”

“He kidnapped you right off the street. If he wasn’t crazy as fuck, you’d be dead already.”

“But I’m not.”

“Through no fault of your own.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine, as you can see.”

Yes, Erik could see how fine he was, completely alone with a vampire in a huge, empty house. He was the perfect picture of sanity and self-preservation instinct.

Erik straightened, looked around and inhaled deeply. He could smell humans, other than Charles. The paramedic, Moira – she was a frequent guest. Another woman, or rather a girl, most likely the Slayer, who was around often enough. An elderly man who came over more often than others. A couple of maids, judging by the cleaning products. A bare suggestion of alcohol, perfume, sex and pot, suggesting a drunken student. The pizza boy.

“Is there anyone here who’d come running if something happened to you right now?”

“You tell me,” Charles told the desk as he tidied the book away.

“You’re pathetic.”

“So are your attempts at intimidation.”

“I can be intimidating. I’m a fucking vampire.”

“Well, you are a lousy vampire. Show, don’t tell.” Charles tweaked him on the nose and made a soft squeaky sound to match. Erik responded by casually sticking a hand down his pants.

There was something immensely gratifying about surprising Charles, even if Erik couldn’t help but get fixated on the artery pulsing in the crease of his thigh. Realistically, he wasn’t going to be allowed anywhere near there, which didn’t stop the fantasies from pouring into his mind – god, he could go down to his knees right here, in the study, he could have Charles on the desk, he could feel him spasm and shiver against his lips.

“Stop it,” Charles whimpered, shoving ineffectually at his shoulders, dragging him closer with clawed hands at the same time. His head was lolling back, his mouth was parted over what might have been the name of god, or a resounding “fuck”, Erik wasn’t sure. The wonders of the teenage years, he thought in delight, wiggling his fingers in the warm confines of Charles’ jeans.

“Give me one good reason.”

Charles glared and with remarkable mental acuity began listing very good reasons to stop while they were ahead. “You’re a vampire, I’m a Watcher. You’re dead, I’m alive. You are _old_. You’re a demon in human flesh.”

Those were some good reasons; Erik had to admit as much. “Is that a no, then?”

“Fuck no.”

Erik moved so that he was pressing Charles to the desk with his legs. He slid both of his hands underneath his shirt, cradling the shuddering chest. It was much like holding a birdcage in his hands, except this time the cage was alive and the bird inside needed to remain imprisoned, lest the world come to an end. Erik pressed his cheek where he could hear the fluttering the strongest and stilled, letting the song overwhelm his senses.

If he perhaps started undoing buttons with his mouth while he was there, well, no one needed to know.

Charles gasped his name, a curse and prayer at the same time, and pulled him up to meet his lips. 

“Good thing you’re not that young,” Erik said.

“Kinky old man.”

“Darling, if you think I’m being kinky now, then we should definitely stop.” Charles’ hand was in Erik’s hair, dragging his head back, so that he could dig his teeth into the tender skin of his throat. Erik moaned and pulled at Charles’ shirt. The buttons would find a way to escape, or they would be ripped, he didn’t care. Shirts could be replaced, desks could be replaced.

If he was thinking rationally, he would realise that sex could also be had some other time, in a bed. If he was thinking rationally. Erik had chosen to give his brain a break for a few hours.

There were a few advantages to vampirism, one of them, of course, being superior strength. Erik could pull up Charles’ thighs around his hips with hardly any effort and heft him into the air, which he did. They ended up on the desk, Erik sitting on the edge, with his legs dangling, and Charles straddling him, with the few books and papers still there pushes to the far side, spilling onto the expensive carpeting.

Erik would have to remember to move, later on, because if they fell asleep in the study, he would have a very rude awakening when the morning light knocked on the windows. Right now it was peaceful, dark. The mansion was far enough removed from the city lights that he could see stars, or he could see stars, if he wasn’t drunk on the sound Charles’ blood made inside his veins. It was far louder than the gasps spilling from his mouth, far warmer than his breath, far more beautiful than the sky, the stars, every other fucking thing on god’s green earth, because it was his alone. Erik wasn’t the sharing kind.

How conducive sex was to philosophy was no shock – what was a little troubling was that Erik had a lovely, eager, wiggling boy in his lap and he began to worry which part of him was possessive, exactly.

Later. Never. It didn’t matter.

The strike came as a surprise. Charles tumbled off Erik and off the desk, landing on the ground with a muted groan. Erik had half a second to react and pull himself together, before the book was swinging again, aimed at his head.

It was only when he was ten feet away from the desk that he was able to take stock of the situation. A girl. A sixteen-year-old girl was swinging an ancient tome in her hands, one of the leather and metal bound ones, as easily as she would pick up a safe sex pamphlet.

Holy fuck, it was the Slayer.

Holy fuck, she wasn’t paying attention to _him_.

“You traitor,” she told Charles, picking up a letter opener from the ornate cup which escaped being pushed off the desk. “You invite the undead into your house!”

“Laura,” Charles started, “Don’t. He’s not dangerous.” He stuttered and dragged the vowels, which alone told Erik he must be concussed.

“I’ll find him and I will kill him,” she said, dropping to her knees beside Charles, holding the letter opener high. “After I dispose of you, traitor.”

This was the first time that Erik saw genuine fear in Charles’ eyes. It made him hesitate, even though he was only inches away from freedom. Let the Slayer boast, he could be out the window and halfway across the world before she thought of following him, but here was Charles, terrified out of his mind, and this bloody girl, who didn’t think past the obvious, who was _bringing down the dull knife_ – 

No, Erik didn’t think. Fighting a Slayer on-on-one was a death sentence to any vampire, save perhaps a very lucky one. He should, and he would, wonder what was going through his head when he grasped the girl’s wrist and flung her aside.

Certainly what was going through his head after he did it was a loud “oh shit”, because she didn’t contend with slamming into the wall and landing in a half-conscious heap on the floor, like every other human would have. No, she turned while airborne, to land with her feet firmly planted on the panelling and her hand, the one not holding the knife, on the floor.

“So you are in league with him,” she snarled. “How could you? I trusted you! The Council trusted you!”

“It’s not like that, Laura, please!” Charles yelled, unsuccessfully trying to get his arms to support him.

She was moving, fast as any demon. Erik intercepted her half-way, and it was a good thing she held a metal knife not a pencil, because it ended up shoved to the hilt into his chest and through his heart. Don’t let her get a hold of anything wooden, Erik told himself as he kneed her in the stomach, and got punched in the thorax for his trouble, in a way that would have been deeply uncomfortable, were he not dead already.

She’d just returned from patrol, he thought. It was so late it was early. She was still young. She must be tired.

Erik dodged a high kick which would likely have taken his head off his shoulders and flipped the Slayer onto her back, while her leg was on the downswing. She was on her feet again before he could blink and fuck it all to hell, goddamn it, if she came after him fully rested, he was dead.

He was dead now, if he let his guard down for a moment. The knife in his chest hurt like hell, as did the arm she was just breaking with the blade of her hand. Fuck. Fuck. Charles had dragged himself to the desk and was rifling through the drawers, but that was all Erik had time to ascertain, before the Slayer dug her heel into his knee.

Erik went down with a shout. Hell and damnation, he thought, looking at the chit of a girl. She was strong and fast, but, fortunately for him, not terribly bright, because she was leaning over him instead of running for the nearest wooden implement, giving Erik the perfect opening to drag the letter opener out of his chest and into hers.

She didn’t die instantly. She still had time enough to crack a few of his ribs, but she was distracted, sloppy. Erik dug the heel of his palm into her trachea and twisted the knife, until she was dead.

Only then did he realise that Charles was screaming. It didn’t matter. Erik was tired and hurt; his self-control was failing. Even with the damaged knee he could make it across the room faster than Charles could run the distance at top speed, and Charles was incapacitated by the blow to the head earlier. He only realised what he was doing when he felt his ribs knit together, when the dead heart in his chest mended. Charles struggled weakly, but he made no sound, he could make no sound with Erik’s palm covering his mouth.

And yet, somehow, Erik stopped. He found himself kneeling astride Charles’ hips, with one of his hands on his mouth, the other on his right shoulder, exposing his bleeding neck, exposing the teeth-marks there. Charles was looking at him; his eyes were wide-open and terrified, and blue enough to become lost in, without a hope of recovery.

“Hold this,” Erik said, tearing off a tail of Charles’ shirt, bundling it up and pulling his left hand to hold it in place. There would be a first aid kit in the desk. There had to be. The drawers were already on the floor, gutted from contents, and it was only a matter of seconds to locate the bright blue box.

It went against every instinct he had, to refrain from licking the wound clean. Charles’ blood was burning the roof of his mouth even now, and he licked his lips repeatedly to make sure he hadn’t missed a drop, while at the same time he was sousing a cotton pad in disinfectant and dabbing it against the edges. A sterile dressing was next, then bandage. How much did he drink? How long did he drink for? He couldn’t think straight, not when his nostrils were still full of Charles, when his mouth hadn’t yet progressed into the aftertaste stage of eating.

His higher functions shut down, because he was bending to the floor and licking the liquid that made it onto the floor, and it was not enough, not nearly enough. It would have to do; it would have to cheat the hunger which shook his limbs now and would, likely, continue to do so for as long as Erik walked the Earth.

“Erik,” Charles whispered. “You need to leave.”

It was like he hadn’t heard.

“Leave. Now. The sky is light. This room faces east.”

No. no. no. no.

“Get off me.”

Sanity was slow to return. Control even slower. Erik dragged himself to his feet. He could walk, albeit unsteadily, and Charles was right, he needed to go; he hurt a Watcher, he couldn’t stay, the other Watchers would have his head if he stayed.

“I don’t want to,” he said nonetheless, forcibly dragging his gaze from the bandage, which was slowly soaking up the red blood. “Don’t make me.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, and then he said something else, something which Erik should have understood, but didn’t. The words sent him flying through the open window onto the terrace, where he stumbled, but tried to get back immediately, because Charles was bleeding, he couldn’t get away while Charles was bleeding.

He couldn’t get in. He tried the other windows, but there was glass, and where there wasn’t, there was a barrier, an invisible wall he could touch, could feel, but couldn’t cross. “What did you do? What did you do?!”

Charles took a few unsteady steps in his direction and collapsed onto his knees. There were tears on his face and his eyes were feverishly bright. “Leave, Erik. Leave and never come back, because I swear I will shoot you on sight, if I see you again.”

“Let me in, damn it!”

“No.” Charles took a deep breath and whimpered. His head fell until it was resting on Erik’s palm, held in the air by the magical barrier. “No, Erik. You have to leave. Right now.”

He remained seated, however, with the side of his face pressed against Erik’s palm, even as he clutched at the cordless phone he must have grabbed off the desk. His fingers trembled on the keypad, but he pressed nine three times in quick succession.

“There’s been a burglary,” he said into the receiver, after giving his address. “My friend is dead. I’m hurt. Please come quickly.”

“There’s nothing they can do for my condition,” Erik said dryly, when Charles hung up the phone.

Charles tore himself away from his touch and glared. “Laura. You killed Laura!”

Oh. That.

“Let me in, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Erik.”

“I’ll come back.”

Charles was staring across the room, at the body of the girl, who seemed quite small in the grey morning light. “Don’t bother,” he whispered.

“You think I’ll leave it like this? The hell I will. You belong to me, now. I will come back for you.”

“We’re done. Go, now, before the ambulance comes, before they see you.”

“Charles!” It was a last ditch effort to make him look, a last chance to see his eyes. It worked. “Don’t leave the house. Stay here, stay safe. I will come back for you, I swear.” He hesitated, but there was no stopping his treacherous mouth now. “I want you. I want to keep you,” he said quietly, pressing against the magical barrier with all his strength. “Charles…”

“You’re a demon Erik, a demon wearing a human body. What makes you think I will ever want to keep you?” Charles held his gaze evenly, but he was growing pale and within a few moments he had to lie down on the floor. Erik stayed, never tearing his gaze away from the sluggish raise and fall of his chest, until he heard the sirens, until he knew someone was coming to staunch the bleeding properly.

Then he climbed down from the balcony and ran across the grounds, mindless of his damaged leg, through the haphazard patches of trees, until he found cover in a basement. “I’ll come back,” he swore out loud, even though no one was listening. He would come back and he would keep Charles, then, because Charles was _his_.

*****

**Now**

Charles sighs into his mouth, but when Erik starts tearing at the buttons of his shirt he makes no further sound. The undershirt narrowly escapes destruction, and Erik flings it to the side, in favour of pushing Charles onto the bed, face-down. 

The tattoo covers most of his back. The main design is a circle, which Erik now recognises as the _Sigillum Dei_ Hank was so excited about. It is ten inches in diameter; the highest point is just below the line of the shoulders. Erik traces the middle pentagram with his finger, trying to make sense of the lettering there. Now that he remembers something strikes him as odd about this particular design, but he cannot place it. It has to be different, because the one he knows is for magic circles and binding demons, when…

“How can this work when you’re human?” he asks, but already he can see the answer in the runes written into the extra circles which interlope with the central sigil. Overall the design is in the shape of a cross, hovering over a base of another, smaller design, which has some connection to fire, spreading out perpendicularly to Charles’s spine, over his sacral bone.

“The whole mansion, and a portion of the grounds, was turned into an enormous binding circle. The tattoo cannot cross it, or it will incinerate.”

Erik bows his head until his chin is in the groove of Charles’ spine and the fiery tattoo burns the fire that threatens to consume him. “I will kill them. All of them, every last one.”

Charles turns and sits up, so that he and Erik are nose to nose. “No, you won’t.”

“They deserve it.”

“They deserve nothing.”

“You don’t deserve this. How long did they give you?”

Charles closes his eyes. “Life.”

“ _What_?”

“I killed a Slayer, Erik. I killed her by knowingly letting a vampire into my house.”

“That girl was an unhinged murderer. She was going to kill you.”

“She was only following her training, her instinct. It’s not her fault.”

“She was ready to kill a human being, Charles, regardless of what you did, that makes her a murderer. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Charles smiles and his hand is infuriatingly gentle on Erik’s cheek. “Would you have fought her at all if she hadn’t implied she would kill me? Would you have stood up to the Slayer if it was some other Watcher she attacked?”

Erik says nothing. He doesn’t give a fuck about the Watchers. They can all die in a fire, far as he’s concerned.

“Exactly.” Charles draws him in into a deep kiss, until the tattoo is all but forgotten. “There is a possibility of parole.”

“Good behaviour? Is that why you are living with a zombie, a banshee and a fire demon? I bet the Council loves that.”

“Hank is not a zombie, and Alex is only a demon on his mother’s side.”

“What’s the parole option?”

“Raven. I will be released if she survives her _Tento di Cruciamentum_.”

“She’s the fucking Slayer, how many even live to take it? What if she dies before then, she’s what, sixteen now? She has two years to go!”

“I know.”

“You want to put Raven through the _Cruciamentum_?” Demon or not, soul or not, Erik isn’t a merciful kind of a man. He devised a _Cruciamentum_ which killed a Slayer when he was twenty five. He was praised for it. Charles, on the other hand, coddles Raven. No way in hell he will go through with letting her be drugged, depowered and pitted against an old, cunning vampire. “What if she dies?”

“It’s not impossible to conquer it,” Charles whispers into his neck. “It’s barbaric, of course it’s barbaric. She still has time. It’s all I can do, to train her to be the best. I even got a head start, compared to what most other Slayers get.

“She came to me when she was eleven – oh, Erik, she was so scared, then. I found her in the kitchen, stealing food from the fridge. She had nowhere else to go, so I took her in. The Council let me, when it turned out she was a Potential – not that they had much choice, given what was left of the academy.” Erik cannot help but grin at that. Shaw is useful, sometimes, and leaving the academy in smoking ruins was the most worthwhile thing he’s ever done. But Charles isn’t finished.

“Then she was called and they mentioned the possibility of letting me off early.” He draws a breath which stutters around his teeth. “She cannot know. That is part of the agreement. If she finds out about the ritual, even if she survives, I won’t be released. How can I not tell her, though? She’s my little sister. I should tell her. She deserves to know. I always make sure she knows what’s in store for her.”

About that, at least, Erik has no doubt. “Don’t. She will live to see eighteen, and she will survive. She’s already good enough to look after herself and she will only get better.”

“I don’t know if I can watch her suffer through that, just because my freedom is riding on it. House arrest isn’t that bad.”

“Shut up.” From what he gathered about Raven, now, before, and from the fit she’s just thrown, when Charles said what he said, was that she would happily assist him in wiping out the Council, if it meant Charles could walk away free. She would kill them both for jeopardising the chance, just to give her an edge she didn’t need. “Did you tell her about any of it? That your future is riding on hers?”

“I didn’t want to put any pressure on her.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Charles shrugs, as though that explains everything, and in many ways it does. “Telling her now would serve no purpose, regardless. She would only fret. In a couple of years, perhaps.”

Erik doesn’t say “don’t tell her,” secure in the knowledge Charles knows. Yes, the _Cruciamentum_ is a sadistic game, devised by the old people to make the short, unhappy life of the doomed girl even shorter, but Raven is already strong and smart enough to take on a nest of demons unaided. She will conquer it, and Charles will have his freedom back, which he will waste, by staying in the library and reading the days away.

It’s a good future to look forward to, Erik thinks. A dusty library, a few candles, leather bound books, the remainder of the Council screaming in fear as he tears their hearts out, Charles making his detailed spreadsheets on ancient vampires. He is looking forward to it.

“I upset them, didn’t I?” Charles stares at the door and it’s not a great leap to figure out he means the collection of strays downstairs.

“You did.” Erik rolls his eyes and pulls him closer. They kiss for a short while, until someone knocks on the door.

“Hi!” Sean pokes his head through the crack, mindless of the horrors he could be witnessing by not waiting for an invitation. “Hank is currently rigging my sound system to the projector; we should be good to go in half an hour, when Alex gets back with the popcorn and coke. Do you wanna watch _Friday the 13th_? I want to watch _Friday the 13th_. Cool tattoo, dude, can I get one, too? Raven wants to watch _Twilight_ , don’t make it _Twilight_ , please. I get the appeal of googly-eyed vampires, no offence Erik, but you are, and I have that at home, to peruse at my leisure.”

“Why are you advocating slasher horror, then? You have that at home as well,” Charles says, sitting up and running his hand through his hair.

Sean shrugs. “It’s funnier on TV. Come quick, because Raven is alone with Hank and he’s got the willpower of a wet donkey when it comes to her. I don’t want to spend the week following Erik around with a xylophone, making twinkling noises, because he would kill me.”

“I understand why I would kill you; I don’t understand the twinkling noises,” Erik says. He has mastered the art of conversing with Sean: always have an implied threat, exacerbate it if at all possible. It gives the conversation something to hold on to, when the banshee takes it careening into unexpected directions.

“It’s a vampire thing, luv. These days the common vampire sparkles in the sunlight and makes twinkling noises while he sparkles and seduces human girls.” Charles taps his chin as he buttons up his shirt, to Sean’s and Erik’s mutual disappointment. The tattoo, aside from every fucked up thing it represents, looks really good on Charles’ trim back. Erik is looking forward to mapping it with his tongue. 

“Here’s a thought,” Charles says, when the shirt is neatly buttoned and he looks ready to follow Sean downstairs. “We could roll you up in glitter. Maybe Raven would be keener to forgive you then.”

Erik levels him with a look. “You want me to roll in glitter to make nice with the Slayer.”

Sean beams, which tells Erik the idea has just gained support, approval and a soundtrack. “Awesome. I’ll go dust my xylophone.”

“I need you to be nice to her. You hurt her feelings pretty badly.” There is gentle reproach in Charles’ voice, which Erik is learning to dread. He didn’t set out to hurt Raven; her feelings were collateral damage. He just needed an invitation. She went overboard with interpretation and fitted an entire ideology to his actions; that really isn’t his problem.

“And you think the glitter will help with hurt feelings,” Erik says, even though he knows he already lost and his immediate future is dazzling.

Charles confirms his defeat with a smile most demons would run away from. “Well, not as such, but it will be hilarious and it’s hard to stay mad at something that hilarious.”

“Why stop there? I’m sure there is a sequinned dress lying around here that I could add to the ensemble. Maybe even fishnet stockings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles says, even as he helps Erik out of his turtleneck. “Raven has yet to discover the wonderful world of drag. We’ll save the dress for later.”

Downstairs is a warzone, because Raven will not relent and Alex has some pretty loud objections to voice, which are supported (very, very quietly) by Hank, mostly because when Alex objects things catch fire, and Hank is the one who can reliably fix most things. Sean simply perches on the backrest of the chair, with the xylophone in his lap, and chimes his way through a melody in his head.

Erik’s appearance effectively shuts everyone up. The viewing of the movie is periodically interrupted for re-enactments, which garner public applause and approval. Hank manipulates the lampshades to create some convincing sunrays and Erik stands in the middle, with his shirt open. He is sparkling purple, because that was the only glitter Charles could find, and he can’t help but wonder how is this his unlife, while Sean chimes him a musical background.

It turns out to be worth it, by Academy Awards standards, because even Raven cheers when he kisses Charles for the grand finale.

THE END.


End file.
